Shipper Second Season II
by willow7
Summary: EPISODE 8 CHAPTER 2: The aftermath of an ML argument and some quality time at the safe house.
1. Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree

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EPISODE SEVEN – CHAPTER FIVE

Disclaimer: All things Dark Angel belong to James Cameron and Charles Eglee and maybe FOX. No copyright infringement intended.

Spoilers: Season 2, Medium is the Message.

Rating: PG-13.

A/N: I'm back...FINALLY. Sorry it took me so long, everyone. I was going through a bit of withdrawal myself. But I hope the results of my absence will be worth it when you all read our Virtual Season 3. =) You can find our Dark Angel Virtual Season 3 website through Phoenix Virtual Television at www.pvtonline.com. We "premiered" September 10 and Episode 2 (of which I am a co-writer) debuts next Tuesday, September 17. Hope you'll "tune in".

I'm just getting back into the swing of things here, so it might be a little boring, not sure. I haven't thought about where to go with this at all during the past month...so no different than my usual. ;-) I was going to write more on this – didn't want to end it here – but I figured I'd go ahead and post, since it's been five weeks. I just started to get back into a groove towards the end, though, so bear with me. Oh, and it hasn't been betaed, so ignore typos as best you can.

Yes, I've been thinking about October 12, when ff.net will remove IAFYDS and S2S since they are both rated NC-17. I've had to post this as a separate entry, since S2S is completely frozen as far as I can tell – unavailable even for edits. I haven't made a decision about what I'm going to do, but I am going to continue writing. A friend of mine and fellow ff.net DA writer, Denise N. Rodier, helped me this weekend to upgrade my website, www.willowsdarkangelfic.freeservers.com – I'm thinking about starting to post there instead and am hoping to set up some kind of review function. (Thanks, Denise!) Take a look at the site and let me know what you thought. 

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"I think you mighta missed something," Max said with a smile.

Joshua looked up at her questioningly, and when she nodded he eagerly grabbed the canvas sack from where he'd dropped it and started pawing through with enthusiastically. Max looked up at Logan, then over at Tricia, and all three of them shared a smile. 

Triumphantly Joshua plucked a box from the bag and read the words on it, then held it to his nose and sniffed hungrily. "Little Debbies . . ." he breathed happily. "Joshua loves Little Debbies." 

Max giggled. "I know, big fella. That oughta keep you happy for a couple days, at least." She looked at the pile of goodies at his feet. First, some new clothes that she'd gotten from a thrift store, hopeful that they'd be big enough for the hulking transgenic. They were as much for Max as for Joshua, because he wasn't schooled in the art of laundry and thus generally reeked of body odor. A radio, so he could listen to the news and keep up with the outside world. That one had confused him at first, but before long he'd been playing with it like a new toy. Brand-new paints and a sketchpad completed his present haul, and she'd also brought an new easel for him that they'd stopped by her apartment to pick up. It was already standing proudly in a corner of the living room where Joshua had set it up so he could paint and look out the window unobserved. 

As Logan and Tricia talked with Joshua, Max got up and wandered idly through the house, thinking how Joshua was really turning the decrepit old structure into a home. The thought made her happy, and almost erased the trepidation she'd felt when they'd brought Tricia with them up the rickety wood steps that evening. Joshua had met them at the door, and Max had hesitantly introduced her, fearing Joshua's reaction. 

"No, not Tricia," he'd said, confused, a look of awareness spreading over his gentle face. "Alex. Joshua remembers." 

Tricia nodded sadly. "I had to change my name, Joshua. I'm Tricia now, but I still remember Alex and Manticore . . . and you. I'm . . . I'm sorry I had to leave you," she added softly, her eyes pleading with him to forgive her. 

"Why did you leave?" Joshua asked, the hurt and anger creeping in. "You didn't say good-bye." 

"I know. I was scared. Manticore . . . there were a lot of bad people there, and they would have hurt me. So I had to go. But I thought about you a lot." 

Joshua nodded. "Joshua thought about Alex – I mean, Tricia, too." He stepped back then and swung his arm back to encompass the house. "Come in and see Father's house." 

Tricia gave Max a sideways glance then they followed him inside. "Sandeman is Joshua's father, and we think he lived here a while ago," Max explained. 

They crossed through the doorway into the living room. "Father's house," Joshua said emphatically. "Father's books. Father's walking stick. Father's house." 

"Yeah, I know, big fella," Max replied. She remembered that tears had welled up in her eyes as she'd seen the sweet innocence in Joshua's face as he'd excitedly shown them around the house. She finally climbed the stairs from the basement and returned to the living room, where Logan was showing Joshua how to string popcorn to hang on the scraggly tree Max had brought him a week before. She smiled and then laughed at them, happy to see two – no, three, she thought, shifting her gaze to Tricia's soft face – of the most important people in her life enjoying each other's company so completely. 

"Hey, why didn't you get a tree?" she asked Logan as she plopped down on the floor in front of where he sat in an overstuffed chair. "Thought that was a big tradition for you WASP types." 

He looked down at her upturned face and shrugged. "Haven't gotten one in years. Too much trouble for just one person, I guess."

"Well, it's not just one person this year," Max pointed out, then looked over at Tricia and Joshua, then back up at Logan, who raised his eyebrows questioningly. "If I know you, you know four Christmas tree salesmen ready to sign over their whole lot." 

Logan laughed. "I don't know about _that_," he objected. "You really want a tree?" 

Max shrugged. "Might as well go all the way if we're doing Christmas anyway, right?" 

Logan smiled. "Yeah, I guess." Then it was his turn to look from Tricia to Joshua. "You guys wanna take a ride?" 

"Joshua has to stay inside, away from people," Joshua said hesitantly. 

Max smiled gently. She could see the longing in his eyes despite his obedient words. "I bet you have something with a hood around here. We were gonna take you with us back to Logan's tonight, anyway." She stood up and went over to Joshua, putting her hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to stay inside at Christmas, Joshua." 

"Really?" he said hopefully. 

"Really. Let's go." 

Joshua and Max searched through his belongings until they found a hooded sweatshirt and large winter coat that everybody agreed would help to hide Joshua from prying eyes, and the four of them headed out to the Aztek. "You know where to go? No way we're gettin' out of the city tonight, 'less you got some passes up your sleeve," Max said, eyeing Logan from the passenger seat. 

"Nope. But I have an idea," Logan said mysteriously. 

As they drove through the city streets, Max stared out the window, noticing how quiet they were: very few people out and about, which was strange for a weekday evening, even on a cold night like that night was. Seemed that even ten years after the United States experienced the biggest cultural and economic shock of its young life, people still held tight to their traditions, like staying at home on Christmas Eve. For many, tradition was the one thing standing between them and utter despair. That phenomenon was strange to Max, always had been. The "traditions" that she'd been raised with hadn't exactly been ones to cherish, and even as she began to understand and assimilate into normal society, cultural traditions and their importance still often eluded her. Of course, since she'd known Logan, some of his love of country and culture had rubbed off on her...thinking of their recent Thanksgiving, Max smiled into the darkness. 

After several more minutes, Logan pulled off the road into a gravel parking lot, and Max realized he'd driven them to what had been Seattle's largest city park. Technically, it was still a park, but in name only. Now it served as a refuge for the homeless and drug-addicted, trying to evade the long reach of the dreaded sector police. The government had long since given up trying to maintain the green space, and it was wild and overgrown. This was the kind of place that mothers sternly warned their children to avoid at all costs, hearing rumors about the park involving gang warfare and strung-out junkies looking for a quick mug. "So what, the new fad is crack Christmas rocks hanging from the branches?" Max joked.

Logan rolled his eyes. "Gimme a break, will you? You wanted a tree. Lots of trees here, last time I checked." He looked into the backseat. "Tricia, maybe you should stay here. And Joshua, maybe you should keep lookout. You know, just in case." 

Max snorted. "I think we'd all be safer together. Plus, way I figure it—" she grinned crookedly and jerked her thumb towards the dark forest outside the car, "—anyone in there gets a look at Joshua, problem'll take care of itself." 

Logan sighed, lifting a hand to her cheek. "You're the expert. My girlfriend, the cat burglar and killing machine. Whatever you say." 

She lifted her chin and grinned at him again, then looked in the backseat and cocked her head at Joshua to let him know he could go with them. The canine transgenic made sure his hood was pulled over his head and shadowing his face before he left the safety of the car before stepping out. 

Logan went around to the back of the vehicle and popped the hatch, rustling through his toolbox until he found a small handsaw. "Looks like we'll have to make do this with this," he apologized to Max, who had come around the back to meet him. 

"No big dealio. I've used smaller tools for bigger jobs, trust me." With a wink, she turned, and he was left smiling at her back. 

Max took the lead and Joshua took the rear, both unconsciously trying to protect the two ordinary humans between them from whatever might be awaiting them. Max found a dirt path, partially obstructed by bushes and weeds, and they waded into the forest like kids on a scavenger hunt. There were a few streetlamps still stuck in the ground along the path, but only a few had working light bulbs, and even those were dim. After just a minute, Logan reached out to Max, trying to find a handhold on her slick leather jacket so she could lead him as though he were blind. That was how he felt, since he couldn't see the path in front of himself very well and was nervous about tripping and falling flat on his face. Max seemed to understand his need for assistance and slowed her steps, making sure that she knocked loose sticks and rocks out of the way as she walked. 

At the same time, she was using her enhanced vision to scan for potential targets, and soon enough she spotted a clump of fir trees – small and runty, but they'd work, she figured. Then they could get the hell out of there. Even if she wasn't big on Christmas, she sure as hell didn't want to spend it in a natural garbage dump filled with the scum of human society. 

As she led the group towards their destination, they heard a rustle in the bushes off to the side of the path, and then jumped when a man emerged into the clearing just ahead of them. He was old and obviously homeless, dirty and unkempt, wearing tattered clothes and a heavy winter coat that was torn in several places. In one hand he held a glass liquor bottle, not even having bothered to cover it up with a brown paper bag. For a moment, he stood, swaying, and stared at them, as if they were apparitions caused by his alcohol-induced state. Max stared back, and he must have seen the ferociousness lying beneath her pretty features, because after another second, he continued stumbling across the path and disappeared again into the night. 

"Everything's an adventure with you two, isn't it?" Tricia said, whispering for no real reason and finishing the statement with a nervous giggle. 

"Max is an adventure," Joshua agreed. 

Finally they arrived at the stand of trees. "All right, have your pick and let's get out of here," Logan told Max. 

A strange, raspy voice came from out of the shadows behind Logan. "Aww, don't want to leave before the fun starts, do ya?" 

Logan felt himself shoved forward a little, and knew that something hard had just been pressed against his lower back where he couldn't feel it. Max looked over and saw the shiny, glazed eyes of a junkie standing there, a drug-induced grin on his face. "Don't you know it's Christmas Eve?" she asked him exasperated. Her gaze darted to Joshua, and their eyes met, then she flicked hers toward the junkie.

Suddenly Joshua threw back the hood of his sweatshirt and snarled in all his full dog-like glory. The junkie screamed and stumbled back, pushing off Logan so hard that he fell forward onto the dirt. As Joshua covered himself back up, glancing warily about, Max jumped over Logan and grabbed the guy by the collar, snatching the gun she now saw he held in one hand. 

"Not exactly Kris Kringle, now are ya?" she asked him sarcastically. She tossed his gun down to Logan, who had sat up, and he caught it, then got gingerly to his feet. She turned back to the druggie and shoved her knee up into his stomach. He gasped as the air rushed out of him, and as he bent over, she let him go and he fell heavily to the ground. "Watch him while I get our tree," she told Logan. "Probably some serious cosmic ramifications to killing someone on Christmas." 

Tricia, terrified into silence during the short scuffle, inched closer to Joshua for protection. Awkwardly, he reached around her with one big arm, as if to comfort her. Quickly, Max chose a tree and turned on her super-speed to saw through the small trunk, catching it as it started to topple. "Big fella, help me out with this," she said over her shoulder. 

Joshua picked up the five-foot tree as though it were a bonzai, and hoisted it over his shoulder. As they started to leave, Max put her boot on the shoulder of the man still lying motionless on the ground. He looked up at her, still unable to speak and gasping for air. "Merry Christmas," she said cheerily, and they continued on their way. 

As soon as the tree was loaded onto the roof of the Aztek, they took off for Fogle Towers. "Uh, sorry about that," Logan said to everyone in the vehicle. "Probably not the _best_ idea I ever had." 

Tricia giggled again, her fear beginning to ease as they increased their distance from the park. "Hey, but we got one hell of a tree." 

***

Once safely back inside Logan's penthouse, the four of them released a collective sigh of relief. Logan switched on the lights throughout, and Joshua threw back his hood as he carried the tree inside. "Where does the tree go?" he asked. 

"Ah, just put it in the living room for now, Joshua. Near the sofa, against the wall," Logan told him. He'd have to go through his storage closet to try to find a stand for it, although he was fairly sure he didn't have one. He hadn't even considered having a Christmas tree since his parents had died fifteen years before. 

First thing Logan did was head to the bathroom in his bedroom, and when he was done there, he stripped off his sweater, tee shirt, and pants. After walking around in the wilderness, he felt like another shower, but he settled for a new tee shirt and, after switching off and removing the exoskeleton and transferring to the wheelchair, a pair of sweatpants and some socks. Max came into the room as he was tossing the dirty laundry into the hamper. "Making yourself comfortable, I see," she teased. 

"It's Christmas Eve," he replied. "No better time." 

She laughed and stripped off her own jacket and kicked off her shoes. "Mind if I join you?" 

He smiled back. "Not at all." 

She got a pair of drawstring pants and a loose-fitting top from his top dresser drawer, her standard nighttime attire, and changed while he waited. When they returned to the kitchen, Tricia had also changed into a tee shirt and sweatpants, and she was wearing fuzzy, pink slippers on her feet. "Nice slippers," Max told her with a smile.   
  
Tricia smiled. "Hey, they're comfortable, so no making fun." 

Logan wheeled over to the refrigerator and peered in, thinking that they all probably needed some comfort food right about then. "The only stuff in here is for dinner tomorrow. Ah-ha. How about some Cale family recipe egg nog, heavy on the whiskey?" he asked them over his shoulder. 

Max wrinkled her nose. "Egg nog's whack. Sketchy made me try it last year at some lame party he dragged us to, and I almost lost it all over the carpet." 

Tricia laughed and Logan just shook his head and lifted one corner of his lips. "Well, why don't you give mine a try, anyway? In all modesty, I'm betting my egg nog might change your mind."

"Yeah, okay." A shadow crossed Max's face then, invisible to anyone except Logan. Their eyes met, and she forced a smile. "Actually, I'm going to go to the bathroom. Go ahead and pour." She turned and left the room. 

Tricia turned to Logan, who sat holding the pitcher of egg nog balanced on one thigh. "She okay?" 

He looked up at her and smiled. "I'm sure she's fine. Here, take this, and I'll get the glasses." They ended up at the dining room table. "Where's Joshua?" Logan asked, suddenly remembering his other guest. 

"He found the television in your office and I taught him how to use the remote control. He was watching a used-car commercial when I left him." Tricia giggled at the memory of Joshua's mouth hanging open as he stared, transfixed, at the screen. 

"Hmm..."Logan frowned as he began to pour the creamy white liquid. "I'll have to check up on him in a minute. "Leaving him around my computer stuff is kind of like leaving a bull to browse in a china shop." 

"I can't believe he's so turned out so gentle and happy after living his entire life in a basement," Tricia remarked. "I still feel guilty, but a little less so knowing that he's well-adjusted and now has Max to look after him." 

"Yeah, but things can't stay this way for long," Logan replied. "He's already getting restless, having to stay in that house 24/7. If he doesn't go crazy first, someone will eventually find him in that house." He took a sip of the egg nog and set it down on the table, thoughtfully sliding his finger along the rim of the glass before looking back up at Tricia. "I just wish Max didn't feel so responsible for him and all the other Manticore refugees. She's . . . different, since she came back. Like she has the weight of the world on her shoulders. And I don't know how to fix it." 

Tricia covered his hand with hers. "You guys can get through it together," she assured him. 

Suddenly they both heard a thump, like something hitting the floor, and Logan looked around. The bathroom. He glanced at Tricia, then unlocked his brakes, backed up, and swiveled around to head to the bathroom. When he got there, he realized Tricia had followed him and was pushing him anxiously. "Um...I'll go in," he said, looking back and up at her. He half-expected what he'd find, and Max wouldn't want anyone to see. "Wait out here." Tricia nodded and stepped back, to the side of the door. 

With that, he slid open the door and went in, sliding it shut behind him as quickly as possible. Max was lying on the ground in front of the sink, seizing violently. The bottle of tryptophan he kept stashed there was on its side on the countertop, its contents spilled across the marble and onto the floor. Logan moved to pick up the pills from the floor and gather the rest into the bottle. "Tricia?" he called. "Max is okay, just slipped. Go ahead and check up on Joshua for me. We'll be out in a second." 

"Okay." Tricia's voice still projected concern, but Logan knew she trusted him and would do as he asked. Once he heard her footsteps recede, he wheeled right up to Max's head as she lay there, her long hair spilling over her face so that he couldn't see if her eyes were open. He locked his brakes and pushed his feet off onto the ground, sliding forward on the seat, and then transferring to the ground beside her. He noticed one of his legs was pressing up against her shoulder, and the seizures were strong enough to rock him back and forth slightly. He straightened his leg and bent over her head, brushing her hair back from her face.

"Max?" he said softly, rubbing her back, unable to do more but wishing he could. Slowly she opened her eyes. He wasn't sure if she'd been knocked unconscious by the fall or by the seizures, or if she'd simply been trying to disappear into the bathroom tile. "Come on, sit up and take some more of these." He shook the bottle, and the two of them worked to raise her convulsing body to a sitting position, leaning back against the cabinet. Bypassing her shaking hands, Logan fed her three of the pills. "Need some water?" he said, looking up past her to the sink. "Should have thought about that before I got down here."

"N-n-n-no," she managed, swallowing determinedly. "Just . . . give me a minute." 

"Where did they come from?" he asked her, scooting backwards to lean his shoulder against the cabinet beside her. "Don't you usually see 'em coming?" 

She shrugged, but the shrug was hidden in the seizures, so she forced her voice through her chattering teeth, hurrying the words out in the small pauses between convulsions. "Sometimes. And . . . sometimes it hits me out of the blue. N-no warning. U-u-usually I'm on my bike in the . . . middle of the street, though," she added, and let out a shaky laugh. 

Logan smiled tenderly. Even when she was at her worst, she didn't lose that dry sense of humor. Another thing he loved about her. He couldn't joke for the longest time about his own physical failings. Still winced inwardly sometimes when he did, for that matter. "Hey, now you have another reason to drink my egg nog," he told her. "Absolutely full of tryptophan." 

"I . . . don't want to go out there," she said quickly. "Not till...the pills have a chance to w-w-work. Don't want to spoil the party, you know." She flashed him a flippant grin as her small frame continued seizing. 

He knew better, and said so. "Tricia probably already knows about the seizures, Max. She worked at Manticore, remember?" 

She avoided his gaze, and reached for the bottle in his hand, but her hand was so clumsy she knocked it away from both of them and across the floor. "Nice," she scolded herself, starting to push away from the cabinet. 

"Relax, I'll get it," Logan said, restraining her. This was one time he was probably stronger than she was, he thought, and he intended to take advantage of it. Awkwardly he twisted around and scooted across the floor backwards, because it was easier that way. When he reached the bottle, lying near the shower, he stuck in the waistband of his sweatpants and made the return trip back to Max. 

When he reached the sink, she immediately stuck a hand down his pants, lingering on the soft skin of his abdomen after finding the bottle of tryptophan. "If you kept a bottle _here_ all the time . . . I'd _never_ have a seizure," she said with a lustful tone clear even with her voice shaky and weak. 

He laughed, and they were quiet for a moment while she stuck a couple more pills in her mouth. "What can I do?" he asked softly, remembering how he'd felt the first time he'd witnessed her seizures. He still felt the exact same way: utterly helpless and frustrated. 

"Just hold me," she said, and he scooted even closer to lean against the sink again, then take her carefully into his arms. She leaned her head over onto his chest and he rubbed her back and arms as best he could. "I . . . don't want her to see me like this. I . . . just don't." 

"Yeah . . . I know," Logan said, pressing his lips against her hair. They sat there for another long while, maybe fifteen minutes, although it felt like longer. But eventually, the seizures started to subside a little. Logan released her and transferred into the wheelchair, then helped her up off the floor and into his lap. He wished he could carry her in his arms – much more romantic, and comfortable for her, he thought. She was still trembling too much to sit sideways with her legs bent up close to her chest – too much coordination required. So she sat facing forward and leaned back against his chest, her feet on top of his. He slid open the bathroom door and peeked out. No Tricia in sight, so he headed out and down the hall to the bedroom, wheeling up to the bed so Max could climb off and get in under the covers. 

"Great Christmas present, huh?" she muttered as she lay her head on the pillow. 

Logan traced her lips with a finger, smiling down at her. "Nah, you were actually more like an Easter present . . . but it was still the best one I ever got," he replied. 

"Over-the-top flattery will get you everywhere," she said with a smile of her own, closing her eyes briefly. Seizures always zapped her energy, and she'd been tired before they'd even started. It'd probably been four or five days since she'd slept for more than two hours at a time. 

"I'm going to go get you some egg nog. Tricia's going to want to see you," he told her.

"Just a few . . . more . . . minutes," she said, yawning. Her body still shuddered slightly, but the large, quaking convulsions were gone, much to Logan's relief. 

Bending over as far as he could go, Logan brushed his lips across her cheek. Her eyes remained closed, so he backed up and turned to go. At the door to the bedroom, though, he looked back. A swath of light from the hallway shined into the room and across her face, illuminating it against the darkness of the room. His breath caught in his chest as he thought how beautiful she looked, how angelic. He sat there for another second, transfixed, then left the room. 


	2. Deck the Halls

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EPISODE SEVEN – CHAPTER SIX

Disclaimer: See Episode 7, Chapter 5.

Spoilers: Season 2, Medium Is The Message.

Rating: PG-13.

A/N: Hi, everyone. Sorry it took me so long again, but at least it's pretty long. It may be a bit rambling, and possibly fragmented, since I wrote it in stops and starts. No present-opening this chapter – probably next chapter, finally. I just wanted to make sure I did justice to Christmas Eve before I moved on to Christmas Day. 

I still haven't done anything with the NC-17 IAFYDS and S2S here on ff.net. Been so incredibly busy on VS3 and real life it just hasn't happened. You might want to d/l the fics just in case they disappear on the 12th. I will probably re-upload them, but don't know at this point. You can get them on my website too, but without the A/N, which quite possibly you don't care anything about. =) Oh, and Denise came through and put a review function on my site: www.willowsdarkangelfic.freeservers.com. Try it out! =) 

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Logan wheeled back into the kitchen to find Tricia leaning up against the kitchen counter, her glass of egg nog held loosely in one hand. "Everything all right?" she asked carefully.

He stopped, then smiled and continued over to the dining room table, where his egg nog was waiting. He picked up the glass and took a drink. "Everything's fine. Max just...wasn't feeling well. She went to lie down." 

Tricia followed him over and perched on a chair. "Logan, I...I went to the bathroom to check up on you. And I...I saw the bottle on the counter. The tryptophan." 

He looked up and met her knowing gaze. Sighing, he lifted his eyebrows quickly and gave a little rueful laugh. "Yeah. She didn't want you to know."

Tricia flashed him a small, wistful smile. "I wondered. I mean, I wondered if she would have them. Like the others. I wish...I wish she could trust me with it." 

Logan set the glass down on the table with a dull thunk. "It's not that she doesn't trust you. Max just isn't big on revealing flaws. She's had to conceal them for so long, to act tough even when she's not." 

Tricia nodded slowly. "Can I...should I take her some milk?" 

Logan looked up again and smiled. "I tried to convince her the egg nog would help. But I think milk would probably be a good idea. While you're doing that, I'm going to go out. I'll be back in a few minutes." 

After Tricia got up and started pouring the milk, Logan left the table and went into the computer room, where Joshua's nose was still glued to the small television screen on the shelf next to the computer desk. His large frame was sprawled in Logan's computer chair. "Television is funny," Joshua said to Logan over his shoulder. "How does it work?"

Logan wrestled with that for a few minutes. "It's pretty complicated. I'll see if I can't find an explanation for you, though." He smiled as Joshua turned back to the screen, as if he was nervous about missing even a few seconds of what was flashing onscreen. "You doing okay, big fella?" Logan asked his turned back. 

Joshua turned back reluctantly. "Doing okay," he replied. "Thank you for bringing me here. But...I don't have Christmas presents for you or Max," he said sadly. "Can't go to the market with Max, and Alec takes all Joshua's paintings." 

Logan laughed. "That's okay. Presents aren't all they're cracked up to be. Besides, your present is you."

"Joshua's a present?" His tone of voice implied that he thought Logan had no clue what he was talking about.

"Yeah. You're here, and that's what's important to Max. And to me." 

Joshua thought about that for a second, then sniffed and smiled. "Okay. Joshua's Max and Logan's present." 

"I'll be back in a few minutes, okay?" Logan asked.

Joshua turned back towards the television screen and nodded absently. Logan sighed and shook his head, then headed out to the front door, where he put on a pair of tennis shoes to look a little more presentable. The elevator was slow in coming, but finally it arrived and Logan got right up next to the lighted button panel and pushed up on one wheel so he could just reach the button for the penthouse above his. When the door opened, he wheeled out into the corridor and to Mrs. Moreno's front door, where he politely rang the bell. 

The door opened a crack, and Mrs. Moreno's kind, lined face stared out at Logan. When she focused in on him and recognition flashed in her eyes, she smiled and opened the door wider. "Logan, Merry Christmas," she said in a slightly shaky voice. She was wrapped in a thick, dark blue terrycloth robe and looked ready for bed.   


"Sorry to bother you so late, Mrs. Moreno," Logan began, "but I just brought home a Christmas tree and I don't seem to have a stand for it. I don't suppose...?" He knew from his visit earlier in the week that she had chosen not to get a tree that year – too much trouble just for her, she'd said. And he also knew that she loved to be of assistance in whatever little way she could – partly to repay him for helping her when she'd fallen, and for his faithful visits to check on her. 

"Of course. You can have mine. If I can find it; I'm afraid I've become a bit of a pack rat," she said with a bashful laugh. 

"Aren't we all?" Logan said lightly. 

She stepped back and let him come in, then she shut the door. "Stay right here, and I'll go find it." 

Five long minutes later, the elderly woman came back down the hallway with a small metal tree stand, painted a gaudy red and rusting at the joints. "I'm sorry it took me so long. It was at the back of my closet." 

"Next time you should let me look for it. I didn't want you to go to any trouble," Logan protested gently. 

"It's no trouble, and besides, that closet is an awful mess," Mrs. Moreno insisted. "At least someone will get some use out of it. And while you're at it..." She handed him the stand, which he situated on his lap and looked up at her questioningly. "I have a few more things you can take. Stay right there," she instructed again, then turned and hurried back down the hall before he could stop her. 

Another five long minutes later, she appeared again, this time carrying a rather large cardboard box. Logan saw her and started wheeling towards her. "Now, you definitely should have let me get that," he chided her. 

"Oh, stop fussing," she teased him. He picked the tree stand up off his lap and together they set the box down on his lap. All kinds of Christmas trimmings bulged from the open box, and Logan carefully set the stand down on top of the box. His chin almost touched the top of the stand, and they both laughed as he jokingly craned his neck over the top.

"This is great, Mrs. Moreno. Thanks a lot. Why don't you come downstairs with me and have some egg nog?" he asked.

"Oh, no, I'm not dressed for it. It's too late for me, besides. You just go and have fun now," she said, smiling down at him. 

"Thanks again," he said, backing up and turning around. She walked him to the door and held it open for him. "Merry Christmas," he told her as he wheeled carefully to the elevator. 

"Merry Christmas, Logan. And please tell Max I said hello." Logan had taken to telling Mrs. Moreno about Max and their relationship – minus the more fantastic elements of the story. He loved talking about her, and Mrs. Moreno loved hearing about their romance, so it was a perfect fit. The elevator was waiting for him, so he went in and used one arm of the tree stand to tap the button for his apartment. 

The first sound he heard when he entered the apartment again was the television blaring from the computer room, then suddenly it was quiet again. Joshua must be experimenting with the volume control, Logan thought, and laughed to himself. Then he realized he could hear laughter coming from somewhere. Female laughter. He awkwardly set the large box on the ground – more like dropped it, actually, as he tried to prevent it from landing on his feet and toppling over. Then he slowly wheeled down the hallway towards the laughter and stopped in the open doorway to his bedroom. 

Tricia was sitting on the edge of his bed, and Max was propped against the headboard, a glass of milk in her hand. Her hair was tangled and her face pale, and her shoulders still trembled occasionally. But the largest shudders were gone, and the two women were laughing, until Logan cleared his throat and they looked over at him. "Hey, guys," he said with a half-smile, coming into the room and wheeling over to them. "What'd I miss?" 

They looked at each other again and burst out laughing. Max's laugh ended with a small seizure, but she didn't seem too discomfited in front of Tricia, for which Logan was glad. "Just recapping some of Sketchy's more amazing claims to idiot infamy," Max informed him. 

"Ahh...well, if you're feeling that much better, Mrs. Moreno just loaned me about 30 pounds worth of Christmas decorations, and every single one of them wants to fulfill their Christmas decorating destiny. Interested?" He leaned over and rested his elbows on his knees, and happened to notice the sneakers still on his feet, so he reached down and started untying them. 

"That sounds like fun," Tricia exclaimed. Max's expression was decidedly less enthusiastic, and Logan remembered her comment from the previous day about not having gotten to stay at home and thread popcorn on a string. It was clear to Logan that she associated decorations with snobbery and high class. Well, he would just have to change that. 

"C'mon," he said, looking at her. "Joshua'd be on cloud nine if you threw some tinsel around his neck and put a star on his head." 

That mental image coaxed a reluctant smile from her full lips, and she finally relented. "Okay...but no egg nog." 

"Agreed." 

Tricia stood up to let Max throw back the covers and start to climb out of bed. She put both bare feet on the ground, then just sat for a moment on the edge of the mattress as the two watched her. Finally, Logan said, "You sure you're okay? You know, we can handle the decorating if you just wanna stay in bed." 

Max looked up with a determined, and slightly irritable, look. "I'm not a china doll, Logan. Not gonna break. Just give me a minute, 'k?"

Busying himself, Logan reached down and slipped off one untied sneaker, then the other, and tossed them over beside the nightstand. Finally, Max stood up shakily, and waved off Tricia as she approached with an arm outstretched, offering support. "Let's do this," she declared. 

The three of them went back into the main part of the apartment, and Logan pointed out the box of Christmas decorations. He bent down to pick it up, but it was too heavy for him at the awkward angle, and Tricia came over to help. "I can get it," she said.

"No, it's okay. Just put it on my lap," Logan insisted. "You know, I should probably put the exoskeleton back on." He sighed, not really wanting to do that now that he was comfortable. "I'm not going to be much use hanging stuff." 

"Joshua can hang stuff." They all looked up to see Joshua poking his head out of the computer room. He ducked back inside to the check the television screen, then turned back to them. "What's that?" he asked, pointing at the box on Logan's lap. 

"Christmas decorations," Logan answered. "And you can be our official decoration hanger, Joshua, if that's okay with you."

"Okay with Joshua." Reluctantly, he turned the remote control toward the television set and turned it off, then came out and took the box from Logan, looking around. 

"Why don't you put it on the sofa, big fella?" Max suggested, and they went into the living room. 

"Why are we putting up decorations?" Joshua asked, starting to pull things from the box, and staring at each thing as if it were from a different planet. 

"It's tradition," Tricia said, walking over and smiling up at him. She took the strand of tinsel he was holding and looked at it for a minute, then glanced up at her friends, still smiling, but with a trace of sadness this time. "Do you know why we celebrate Christmas, Joshua?" she asked him. 

He nodded eagerly. "I read _A Christ-mas Carol_," he said slowly and deliberately. "Charles Dickens wrote it. One of Father's books," he added proudly.

"Ahh, I see," Tricia said. "Well, then, this is how we celebrate Christmas now. Put up a Christmas tree, decorate it, and then put up whatever other decorations you want. My family used to make wreaths out of holly and pine branches, and put them on every door." 

"My mother always bought these really ugly wreaths with lots of fancy ribbons," Logan added, and Max and Tricia laughed. 

"Cratchit didn't have any wreaths," Joshua said, having trouble pronouncing the strange words. "They had a turkey dinner – yum," he added, smiling. 

Logan wheeled over and started rummaging through the box, pulling out a bag of tree ornaments, a star for the top of the tree, a couple of wide red ribbons tied into gaudy bows, and several strands of Christmas lights. He smiled up at Joshua. "That's one tradition that's still around," he said. "Turkey is on the menu for tomorrow." 

"Like Thanksgiving," Joshua pointed out.

"Yeah. Two days out of the year, we eat a whole turkey. That's America for you." 

"_A Christmas Carol _is in England," Joshua said. "That's England for you. Not America." 

Logan laughed at Joshua's imitation. "Right, well, we get lots of our traditions from England," he replied. As he handed the bows to Joshua and explained what to do with them, Logan realized Max had gotten quiet, and he looked over at her. She'd sunk down in one of the living room chairs opposite where Logan and Joshua were huddled near the sofa. Logan could see her trembling slightly every few seconds, and he smiled sympathetically. 

Joshua turned around and followed Logan's gaze. "Max...Max is having seizures?" he said worriedly, as he looked intently at her. 

"Yeah, I'm not feeling so hot," she replied. She shook her head and gave him a crooked smile. "Hey, nobody's perfect." 

Tricia had picked up the Christmas stand and taken it to the corner of the room near the window, where she set it down and plopped down Indian-style to work on the rusty bolts, trying to loosen the pins that would hold the tree in place. When she heard the exchange between Max and Joshua, she left the task and went over to Max, putting a hesitant hand on top of her daughter's head. "Do you...do you have seizures, Joshua?" Tricia asked gently. 

"No," he answered shortly, and turned his back to her, suddenly interested again in the contents of the box. Logan gave the women a curious glance and shrugged a little. Max turned her head up and shrugged at Tricia, who quickly removed her hand, shot Max a puzzled glance, but then smiled, as if to indicate that she wasn't planning to pursue the subject. She wondered privately, though, what experiences Joshua had had that had made him so unwilling to discuss it, and she wondered if Max had talked to him about her seizures. 

"So, is there a tree skirt in that box of yours?" Tricia asked Logan, breaking the sudden tension in the room. 

"Uh..." He dug down even further, and triumphantly came up with a bright red skirt, made of some type of fluffy, cottony fabric and edged with green trim. He balled it up and tossed it over Joshua's head to Tricia, and Joshua ducked, startled. After he recovered, he took the bows and became preoccupied with finding the perfect places to hang them around the room. 

"Need some help with the tree?" Logan asked.

"I'll get it," Max said. 

Logan frowned but didn't protest, just put his hands to his wheels and sighed, watching her. They were both equally stubborn about things, but it was Christmas Eve, so he wouldn't be the one to make things difficult. Not that night. His gaze followed Max as she went over to the tree and brought it over to where Tricia was getting the stand ready. Max looked up, feeling his eyes on her. "You didn't bring that saw with you by any chance, did you?" she asked him. This trunk needs to be cut a little more – evened out." 

"No, but I have a toolbox here," he replied, going to the computer room. These days he used it mostly to hold his assortment of exoskeleton repair and maintenance tools, but he found a small handsaw that she could use, and brought it to her, swinging through the kitchen first to pick up his broom and dustpan. The two of them worked to cut and even out the trunk, then he let Max and Tricia guide it into the metal stand and secure it. 

Logan went back to the box of decorations and starting unfurling the strings of tree lights. Eventually Joshua put up the bows he'd been given and went back over the sofa. Logan looked up, craning his neck to see Joshua, who towered above him. "All done?" Logan asked. 

"All done," Joshua said, and pointed around the room to show where he'd hung the various bows. Then he sat down heavily on the expensive sofa, and Logan winced. "Why do you ride in the wheelchair, Logan?" he asked. 

Logan smiled at the innocent question. He explained, for roughly the millionth time, about the exoskeleton and his having been shot and the paralysis. Joshua listened quietly and intently, and so did Max and Tricia, from across the room. 

"Are you mad?" 

Logan's brow wrinkled as he looked at Joshua in confusion. "Mad about what?" he asked. He was pretty sure he knew what, but he didn't want to answer the wrong question by mistake. 

"Mad at the person who shot you." 

"He's dead." Logan shrugged. "Being mad doesn't change anything." His eyes shot to Max, who was watching him tenderly. "Just annoys everyone around you." 

"I'm mad at...the guards...at Manticore. For being mean to Isaac and all the others. And me," Joshua added, casting his eyes down to the floor. Then he looked at Logan searchingly. "Why are people bad?" 

Logan glanced at the others, hoping to get some help, but they looked as stymied as he was at the unanswerable question. "Nobody knows," Logan finally said. "Some people hurt others for money. Some people are prejudiced and think that the people they hurt aren't really people, so it doesn't matter." 

A low growl emerged from Joshua's throat, and in an instant, he was on his feet, snarling down at Logan threateningly. "We _are _people!" he said ferociously, then growled again. 

As Max moved to Joshua's side to calm him, Logan put up his hands. "I know you are, big fella. Isaac, too. It doesn't make what they did any less wrong. But it's a reason." He put his hands down to his wheels and sighed. "Bruno – the man who shot me in the back – told me once, it wasn't personal." Logan's eyes darted to Max, who still had a hand on Joshua's arm as he breathed heavily, still very upset. "But I'm still in this wheelchair...I'm still paralyzed.

"I guess the point is, you'll never figure out why people are bad, and it doesn't really matter, anyway. You'll drive yourself crazy trying to figure it out, and it won't change a damn thing. You just have to be as good as _you_ can be, and maybe make somebody else think twice about doing bad things." 

Finally calmed, Joshua sat down on the sofa, and reached a big, hairy hand out to Logan's knee. "Sorry, Logan. Joshua...goes crazy sometimes," he said softly.

Logan smiled. "It's okay, big fella. We all go a little crazy sometimes. But, you know what? Why we're putting up these Christmas decorations? Christmas is a time to celebrate the good things about people...about humanity."

"_A Christmas Carol_," Joshua remembered. "Scrooge was bad, but then he turned good." 

"Hey, you got any lights for this sad tree?" Tricia asked, making them all turn towards the corner. Their scrawny, five-foot tree stood in the corner, bare, its trunk and the stand wrapped in the soft, red tree skirt. The empty circular expanse of fabric seemed to beg for gaily wrapped gifts. 

"As a matter of fact...I do," Logan told her, loading the strands onto his lap and wheeling over to her. "I need to go look for an extension cord, though." 

The four of them spent the next hour decorating their tree to within an inch of its life. Joshua did indeed end up with several lengths of tinsel around his neck and a star on his head, until Max jumped up and grabbed it off so they could stick it on the top of the tree. As soon as that was done, Logan remembered that he had to put Christmas dinner on the table the next day for eight people, and he worriedly headed for the kitchen to start getting ready. He'd have to get up at dawn the next day to start the turkey roasting, and he wanted to be able to go right back to sleep for a while instead of staying up preparing the rest. 

While he was puttering around in the kitchen, Max brought out a foam mattress for Joshua to sleep on, and several blankets. She apologized that he had to sleep on the floor, but he reminded her he'd slept in a lot worse places and for much longer than one night. After saying good night to them, Tricia went into the kitchen to find Logan at the island counter, a cutting board in his lap. He was carefully slicing fresh vegetable and periodically sliding them into a Tupperware container. "Counter's not quite low enough for comfort," he said by way of explanation.

"That looks easier, anyway," Tricia replied. "Could you put the knife down a second so I can hug you?" she asked with a smile. 

He laid the knife on the counter, and she bent down to squeeze his shoulders, careful to avoid the vegetables still in his lap. He smelled her scent of flowery soap, and just a hint of the perfume she'd probably put on that morning in Horseshoe Bay. As she straightened back up, she kissed his cheek. "Thanks for getting me here, Logan. I really can't tell you how much it means." 

Logan shrugged modestly. "Before I forget...I wanted to make sure that you're okay with seeing Colin tomorrow. I mean, I know you wanted to go over there tonight...but, well, he did hold a gun to your head. Talk about doing bad things..."

Tricia thought for a second, then nodded. "It was pretty bad," she agreed with a rueful smile. "But we're okay. And from what you've told me, he was as scared as we were. I think I can handle it...but thanks for asking." Again she thought what a wonderful person he was, but she didn't voice it, knowing how uncomfortable it made him to hear himself praised. "See you in the morning. Merry Christmas." 

"Merry Christmas," he answered, picking the knife back up and going back to his work. 

Several minutes later, Max finally came over to him. "Okay, Joshua's set, and I'm beat. You almost done?" 

"Yeah. I'll finish up in the morning." He put everything in the refrigerator and Max helped him do a little cleaning. She was well aware that he couldn't start or finish anything in the kitchen until everything was spotless. Once the egg nog glasses and Max's empty milk glass were loaded in the dishwasher, Logan followed Max to the bedroom. They used his bathroom together to get ready for bed – since there were guests, they each left a tee shirt on, and Logan a pair of boxers. Then Max put her hands on Logan's shoulders and let him lead her to the bed. 

Logan threw back the covers and transferred onto the crisp, navy blue sheets. Max crawled in over him and turned back to him as he lifted his legs onto the bed. She ran her hand along the leg closest to her. "Hey, you okay from our little park adventure earlier?"

"I guess we should make sure – I didn't pay much attention." He supported himself with one arm and watched as Max propped up his left leg and ran her hands over it lightly, looking for any abnormalities. 

Feeling his gaze, she turned her head to glance sideways at him. "What?" she asked with a shy smile.

"Nothing." He was smiling at her, but not sure why. "You're so focused. It's cute." 

She snorted, then put the left leg down and moved on to the right, but had barely propped it up when she pointed to a spot. "What's this?" she asked. 

As she did so, Logan noticed the smallest of tremors running through her, but she ignored it, so he did, too, suppressing the desire to ask if she was okay, if he could do anything for her. He pushed up a little further and leaned forward as best he could too peer at the inside of his knee. Near her pointed index finger was a small, round patch of slightly pink skin, almost invisible unless one was looking for it. 

"Damn it." Logan ran a resigned finger over it. "Happened a couple of months ago, too. Sam said the exoskeleton's irritating the skin. Thing is, I have no idea why. I mean, I've been using the damn thing for almost a year with no problem."

"So what are doctor's orders? We gotta nip this thing in the bud, right?"

Logan sighed. "Yeah. Well, for one thing, no exo tomorrow, but I wasn't planning on it, anyway. Can you get some antibiotic cream and a Band-Aid? That'll do for tonight." 

When that was done, Max pulled the covers up over them. Neither liked having the unfamiliar feel of their clothing between them when she naturally gravitated to his embrace. "Wanna turn off the light?" Logan reminded her, and she rolled over and complied with his request. The moonlight shone through the window blinds, casting tiny lines of pale light across the floor and the bed. Logan turned his head and kissed her on the forehead, sighing deeply. "Did you have a good Christmas Eve?" 

She nodded, her soft cheek brushing against his taut shoulder under the tee shirt, and she turned her head slightly to place a kiss there. "Thanks. Especially, you know, for Tricia." 

At that moment, Logan felt yet another small seizure ripple through her shoulders and into his arm. "Did you take a couple more pills?" he asked.

She nodded. "Yes, _Dad_. Really I just need some sleep. Tomorrow's gonna be a bitch. I think you overdid it with the invitations."

"Hey, who was I gonna leave out?" he protested. "_You_ asked me to invite Original Cindy, and I can't very well leave the Kennedys in the safe house to celebrate their first Christmas away from home." A familiar guilt bubbled up in Logan's chest, and made it ache slightly. "At least Bling's going to spend the day with _his_ family, so that's one less person." 

"What about _your_ family?" Max asked suddenly. She had barely given a thought to the Cales, but the mention of family triggered her curiosity.

"I haven't spent Christmas with them in years, and they won't stay at the house this year, not with Uncle Jonas... I talked to Bennett – he and Marianne are dragging Aunt Margo to Christmas dinner with Marianne's family."

Max repressed an evil laugh. "Gotta feel bad for _them_," she said instead. 

"Yeah." They were quiet for a few minutes. Logan was thinking of the little white box in his nightstand drawer, now wrapped and tied with a ribbon. He'd thought of giving it to her that night in private, but had decided he wanted everyone to see her expression when she lifted the gift from the box. 

"Do you...you buy into this whole Christmas thing, Logan?" Max asked softly and hesitantly. 

"What do you mean?"

"You know, the whole Messiah dealio – immaculate conception, wise men bringing the kid stuff that has nothing to do with anything..."

Logan laughed into the darkness. "Lot of people believe it, even after so long," he observed. "Pretty arrogant to just dismiss it as the opiate of the masses." 

"Lotta people do," Max pointed out. 

"And a lot of people make it the center of their existence," Logan retorted. "Billions of people over 2000 years can't be wrong...can they?" 

"So you do buy into it," Max declared.

Logan shrugged slightly. "I don't know. What about you, Max – do you believe in God?" 

She was quiet for several moments. "That's a different question."

"Yeah. But one we've never discussed." 

She was silent again. "I was created by people in a DNA lab. If there is a God, I'm a perversion of His _Will_," she said bitterly. "Not really an incentive to like the guy...or even believe He exists. My life's a lot easier to deal with if He doesn't."

"I don't know about that," Logan said. "And you didn't answer my question." 

"It's late, Logan, and I'm tired, thanks to my man-made genetics." Max shifted restlessly, and finally turned away from Logan, curling up her legs into the fetal position. 

Logan waited, but she didn't reach back for his arm and tug on him to roll over and join her, like she normally did. Neither did he hear her reach back with one leg and pull his legs over to touch hers. He sighed quietly, then took a breath and gently removed his left arm from under her, then pushed up on both elbows. He rolled over on his left hip, neatly spooning her, then reached down and nudged his right leg over the left to follow his torso. 

Lying back down, he slid the left arm back under her, and caressed her hair and arm with the other hand. After briefly considering trying to apologize, or pressing a little further on the subject, he reluctantly decided to do neither. He didn't want to upset her, not tonight, not when she was weak and tired. "I love you," he whispered. 

"I love you, too." Her reply was muffled, as if her mouth was halfway pressed against the pillow. "'Night." 

"'Night." Logan lifted her hair gently and kissed the barcode on the back of her neck as yet another tiny seizure rippled through her. He nuzzled his nose against her hairline and drifted off to sleep. Max, however, lay there for a long time, thinking about everything and nothing, all at once. She was tired, but sleep wouldn't come. She realized that she'd done the exact same thing that Logan had done a month earlier, when he'd put off an important conversation because he wasn't comfortable with the topic. It had scared him, and anything touching religion or a higher power scared Max. She hadn't answered him because she didn't know how to, and she didn't think she'd ever know. Not knowing, and feeling like she was powerless in the face of such an important, yet intangible, area of human existence, had always frustrated and angered Max, so she just avoided the whole thing. If she didn't admit to anyone that she was confused or scared, then she could convince herself that she wasn't, that she was too smart, too tough to think about something as silly as God or religion. Deep down, she realized that about herself, but damn it, she just didn't want to deal with it. 

She lay there so long, staring into the semi-darkness, that she had to shift position. Slowly and carefully, she rolled over and came face-to-face with Logan's sleeping form. She kissed him lightly on the lips, then gently nudged him over onto his back. No harm in changing his position while she was at it, she figured. Curling up into the crook of his arm, she gave one final sigh, then fell into a fitful sleep. 


	3. Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas

****

EPISODE SEVEN –CHAPTER SEVEN

Disclaimer: See Episode 7, Chapter 5.

Spoilers: Season 2, MITM. 

Rating: PG-13.

A/N: Okay, one more chapter (this one) before the presents are opened. Sorry for dragging it out, but I thought maybe some of you would prefer it this way, rather than waiting two more weeks for a super-long chapter. Was I right? Let me know. =) For getting out this chapter as soon as I did, you can thank the certain someone who started bugging me at the end of last week, desperate for more M/L fic. I really have to get to work now on VS3 episode 11. You can find this also at http://willowsdarkangelfic.freeservers.com (please leave me a review and I will respond!) and check out http://www.darkangelvirtuality.com if you haven't already. Thanks for all the feedback you guys have given me over the months – it's been almost a year since I started writing IAFYDS and I never would have kept it up this long were it not for knowing how much it was appreciated. And that's what _I_ appreciate. So thanks. =)

________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing Logan realized when he opened his eyes was that Max was still lying beside him. That almost never happened, since she didn't sleep much, but here she still was, turned away from him, one arm hanging off the far side of the bed. He pushed up on his arms and scooted backwards a little so he could sit up fully, and saw his left leg under the covers, stretched out across Max's half of the mattress. No wonder she was almost off the bed, he realized; she must have been sleeping too soundly to protest his leg edging her farther and farther to one side. 

Smiling, he nudged the covers down some and maneuvered his leg back where it belonged. For the longest time, Max had worried aloud to him that she would injure him at night, because he frequently kicked or nudged her while both of them were sleeping, and she, in her sleep, tended to react violently. Logan had offered to take the muscle relaxants he kept on hand, but she insisted she didn't mind the nightly undercover battles. That, he was glad of, because he' d never liked taking pills, and besides that, he didn't want to become so accustomed to the relaxants that he couldn't go to sleep without them. He would have done it for her, though. As it was, he only took them when the spasms were particularly strong and annoying. And for her part, it seemed that Max had learned, even in sleep, to either ignore him or treat his misbehaving limbs gently. 

Logan turned towards her slightly then, running a hand ever-so-softly over her hair, which was splayed carelessly across the pillowcase in a dark, shimmering spray. Then he turned away and started moving, slowly and quietly, towards the edge of the bed, trying not to wake her. This was one of those times that he consciously wished for his legs back, wished he could artlessly slip out of bed in one fluid movement, unnoticed even by Max's keen senses. But that wasn't reality – not anymore, he thought with a sigh as he twisted and scooted and Max began to stir. 

Finally when he was at the edge of the bed and his feet were on the ground, he glanced back nervously at her. She'd rolled over but wasn't fully conscious, so he sat there silently for a few long minutes while she drifted back to sleep. Those seizures really knocked her out, he thought, and was strangely grateful for it. There was something he wanted to do before anyone was awake. 

The wheelchair was still patiently waiting beside the bed, and Logan winced as it squeaked and groaned as he transferred into it and inched back the brakes as slowly and quietly as possible. The new chair he'd ordered couldn't get here fast enough, he thought, but he was stuck with this one for now. He'd loaned his spare to Colin indefinitely, since Logan wasn't really comfortable with it to begin with. He also knew how frustrated Colin was with the rehab chair now that he was stronger and quickly becoming a bona fide wheeler, Logan thought, smiling again to himself. The smile disappeared as Logan recalled what Bling had told him about Colin wanting to quit rehab. Logan remembered that every time he had visited the safehouse recently, Colin had complained incessantly that Bling still wouldn't let him use the exoskeleton. Well, I'd have been just as impatient, Logan thought. It's only natural for him to want to walk again as soon as he possibly can. 

Bling just doesn't understand, Logan told himself as he came around the end of the bed, the rubber wheels treading silently on the hardwood floor. He stopped next to his nightstand, Max lying just twelve inches away, and little by little, edged the drawer open and lifted out the small, wrapped box inside. Leaving the drawer open to avoid the noise of closing it, Logan swiveled around and went to the bathroom, sliding the door shut. When he was done there, he crossed the room to his dresser, where he got out a pair of clean sweats, just to wear until he could shower. Finally, he left the room to put on the pants in the hallway, so Max wouldn't hear him. 

His next stop was the storage closet, where he dragged out the large, rectangular box that had been delivered two days earlier, and stood it up against the wall. It was too large for him to bother wrapping it, but he wanted it under the tree nonetheless. He inched the chair into the crowded closet and picked up a few more gifts, plopping them on his lap and backing out. The apartment was still quiet, and Logan was hoping that meant both Tricia and Joshua were still sleeping. Wheeling into the kitchen, past the guest room and into the living room, he saw Joshua's long body still sacked out on the pallet Max had made for him. Unfortunately, with Joshua there, the path between the sofa and the computer room wasn't wide enough for the chair, so he backed up and wheeled around the long way, going to the Christmas tree from the front hallway. Once there, he arranged the few gifts he had under the tree, then backed up and smiled, suppressing a sudden urge to start whistling Christmas carols. He went back to the closet and heaved the large box onto his lap, wheeling with difficulty back the way he had come and standing the large box up to lean against the wall nearest the tree. 

After one more trip to the closet and back to the Christmas tree, he wheeled back and admired his handiwork. A lump in his throat rose as he realized he'd never seen that sight in his apartment. A properly decorated tree with wrapped presents underneath looked almost foreign to him. Since Valerie, Logan was a little ashamed to admit that he'd spent Christmas either working on Eyes Only or occasionally with Jonas and Margot, a formal event marked by lots of alcohol and not much else. But what else would he have done? There hadn't been anyone very close to him during those years...not until Max. 

Clearing his throat, quietly so as not to wake Joshua, Logan turned around and headed around to the kitchen to preheat the oven for the stuffed turkey waiting in the refrigerator. As he moved around, getting things ready, he misjudged and banged the footrest of the chair into the metal support of the island counter, and a few seconds later, he heard rustling coming from the guest room and the living room. Smooth, he scolded himself. Soon both Joshua and Tricia made their appearances, and Logan sent Tricia to shower before Joshua; he figured the shower was going to need a thorough cleaning after the transgenic got through in there. While Tricia was showering, Logan had Joshua help out in the kitchen, after making sure his hands were washed. 

"Why don't you set the table?" Logan asked him, showing him the lower cabinet where the plates were kept, grinning as Joshua bent, stooped, then got down on hands and knees to reach the dishes. "We need seven plates." 

"Who's coming to dinner?" Joshua asked, trying to balance the plates as he stood back up. 

Logan grimaced, expecting to be sweeping up the pieces in short order. "Uh...just some friends of mine. And Original Cindy." 

"Logan's friends know about Joshua?" 

Logan sighed. He knew he should have prodded Max the previous evening into explaining the situation, but she had wanted Joshua to enjoy Christmas Eve without Manticore's interference, and Logan had gone along with it. Of course, now that left him to do the explaining. 

"No. Actually, my friends don't know about you, or Manticore, or that Max is X5," he said tentatively. 

Carrying the plates to the table, Joshua stopped once there and didn't turn around right away. "Joshua has to leave, then. People are afraid of what they don't understand." 

"Yeah. I'm sorry, big fella. We wanted to have you visit for Christmas Eve, and then some other people for Christmas Day. They're...they're away from their family, and they're pretty lonely." 

"Joshua lonely in Father's house." He turned around then and looked down at Logan as he sat there, hands on wheels. "Thanks for Christmas Eve, Logan." 

"No problem," he replied softly. "And hey, I'm going to pack up some of my famous Christmas dinner to take home with you, okay?" 

"Okay," Joshua agreed with a smile. 

Wanting to make what was left of Joshua's Christmas experience enjoyable, Logan asked him to help with the food preparation, once the table was set. It was pretty funny, Logan thought as Joshua carefully put the salad together from the various chopped vegetables Logan had cut up the night before. Here he was teaching a transgenic with canine DNA to cook Christmas dinner. And the funny part was really that it didn't seem out of the ordinary in the least. 

When Tricia was done and dressed, in a pair of black jeans and thick red sweater over a white turtleneck, she came into the kitchen at the same time Max was coming out from Logan's room, already having showered and dressed, in charcoal-gray cargo pants and a tight gray tank top over a sports bra. Typical Max, and gorgeous, Logan thought, smiling up at her and grabbing her hand. "Good morning, ladies," he said, his gaze finally shifting to Tricia, who was already smiling at his obvious infatuation with her daughter. "Feeling better?" he asked Max.

She nodded. "Amazing what a couple hours sleep does for ya." 

Logan's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Only a couple hours? What were you doing all night?" 

She shrugged evasively. "Counting ceiling tiles, mostly. A hundred and thirty-two," she informed him, and when he responded with a look of confusion, she added, "Ceiling tiles, in your bedroom." 

"I'm sorry you didn't sleep well. Might have had something to do with the fact that this naughty guy," he patted his left leg, "had you clinging to the edge of the bed for dear life." 

She laughed dismissively. "Hey, if that bothered me, I'da had to tie you to the bedposts a long time ago." 

At that, Tricia burst out laughing, and Max's cheeks grew warm and pink. "You know what I mean," she protested, but Tricia and Logan just grinned at her. Finally she went to the refrigerator and pulled it open, searching for the milk. "Joshua, you take a shower yet?" she called over her shoulder. 

"Helping Logan with Christmas dinner," he replied, also over his own shoulder as he carefully and intently stirred the green beans that were simmering on the stove. 

"Go take a shower, please. Hey, there's hot water," she told him, and he looked up at her. 

"I know, Joshua has to go home before Logan's friends come over for Christmas dinner," he said, almost as if in defeat. 

Max's face softened. "I'm sorry, Joshua. Someday...someday people will be able to handle your pretty face. I promise." And she smiled a little, trying to soften the hurt. 

"Maybe, little fella. But not today." Joshua put down the spoon and headed off to the bathroom. 

Max felt Logan squeeze her hand again, and she looked down at the concern in his eyes. "Thanks...sorry I didn't tell him." 

Logan shrugged, and rubbed his right leg with that hand. "It was gonna hurt no matter who told him. I'm going to go shower, too. If the hot water holds out long enough," he added with a crooked smile. She didn't respond, so he let go of her hand and looked over at Tricia. "Can you keep an eye on things here till I get back?" She nodded, and he wheeled from the room. 

"I admire you for taking care of Joshua the way you have, Max. He'd probably be in a lab somewhere if you hadn't helped," Tricia said, walking over to the refrigerator where Max stood. 

Max didn't look at her for a second. "It's my fault, that he's out in the world. Had to do something." 

"It's not your fault. You did him a favor. Not your fault the world isn't ready for him. Not your fault that Manticore decided to screw with something that wasn't theirs to screw with." 

"Yeah, I guess." Max smiled at her mother, then padded past her in bare feet into the living room, where her smile widened when she saw the presents under the tree. She curled up on the sofa and just stared at it for a while. True, it wasn't fair that Joshua wouldn't be able to share the rest of the day with them, but at least he'd spent Christmas Eve with them, she reassured herself. They would just have to work around the rest of the world to give Joshua a meaningful life. Her thoughts turned to Alec, and she frowned. He didn't have the same problem as Joshua, since he physically fit into society, like Max herself. She'd invited him, somewhat reluctantly, to Christmas dinner, but he'd refused. Said he'd never celebrated holidays before and he wasn't going to start now. 

Of course, she'd reminded him that he'd done just that at Thanksgiving, and he'd made some smart comment about not wanting to pass up a free meal. But even that lure wasn't enough to get him to Logan's apartment for Christmas, since this time Logan had gone and invited a bunch of total strangers. Alec just wasn't ready to do the family thing. Instead, he'd probably end up at Crash, drinking himself into oblivion, or alone in his apartment. Despite the constant frustration and irritation that Alec caused Max, that image made her sad. At least she had Logan to give her perspective in this crazy world. Alec didn't have anybody special to remind him that life didn't have to be defined by what had come before, by Manticore. 

After tending to the stove and checking on the turkey, Tricia made her way into the living room, repeating Max's smile when she caught sight of the Christmas tree and wrapped presents. "Your boyfriend is really special. I know you know that, but...he is." 

Max smiled at her. "Yeah, he is," she agreed. 

Suddenly Logan's cell phone began to ring from inside the computer room. Max was tempted to ignore it, but Tricia asked, "Are you going to get that?" 

Max sighed and stood up, going to the phone and snapping a curt, "Yeah?" 

"Uh...I...I need to speak to..."

"He's busy," Max interrupted. "I work for him. What's up?" 

"I...I can't tell anyone but him. He told me not to," the man on the end answered nervously. 

"Listen, buddy, I'm the one's gonna help you if you need it, so spill." 

Silence for a few moments. "Uh...okay, but have him get in touch as soon as he can. The info he wanted me to give to the Steelheads...I gave it to 'em, but now they want to talk to the guy in charge. And there _is_ no guy in charge, except...your guy. They're pissing and moaning that someone's trying to horn in on their territory, and they're holding me responsible. They gave me till the end of the week to set up a meeting! I need some help – fast." 

"Yeah, all right, just chill. Go eat some turkey and forget about it. It's Christmas, you know," Max told him flippantly. 

"Yeah, and I wanna stay alive to see another one," said the guy irritably. "Just tell him." The connection was cut abruptly, and Max put the phone down and returned to the living room. 

"Who was it?" Tricia asked. 

Max was pretty certain that Tricia couldn't have heard the details of the conversation, and her mind whirled to think of an explanation. "Just a guy Logan's interviewing for a story. No biggie." She sat back down and put her feet up on the sofa. "So, where were we?" 

"We were agreeing that Logan is a saint," Tricia reminded her, giggling. 

"Hey, let's not go overboard," Max said dryly. "He's got his issues," she added, thinking about his obsession with Eyes Only and the problems it had caused them. she knew if she told him about the phone call he'd just received, he'd immerse himself in it until it was resolved, despite his promise not to work during the holiday. The end of the week was only two days away, and Logan would put his desire to take down the Steelheads above Max's desire for some peace and quiet. Which is why she was going to hold off telling him, she decided. For 24 hours – that would still give him plenty of time to save his informant's sorry ass. 

Suddenly Max realized that Tricia had asked her a question, and looked at her blankly. "What?"

Tricia smiled patiently and repeated, "You mean...issues about his paralysis? Or something else?" 

"I hope he's pretty much over _that_," Max said. "We...we talked about it. I mean, he still doesn't _like_ it, but at least he's not—" She cut herself off, aware that she'd almost made a reference to Logan's past suicidal thoughts. She shrugged, changing the subject abruptly. "He just gets too wrapped around his job, sometimes. That's all. And he's stubborn as hell."

"And you wouldn't know anything about that, I guess," Tricia teased her. 

They talked a few more minutes, till Logan came out of the bedroom, now dressed in those tight light blue jeans that Max loved but didn't get to see much because they didn't fit over the exoskeleton. Logan had owned this particular pair for years, and they were the perfect length standing up, but in the chair, they rode up a little too high on his ankles, which Max thought was adorable. Since his shooting, Logan had gradually replaced most of his pants with longer and baggier versions, for sitting as well as for the exo, but he kept the ones he now wore, a fact for which Max was entirely grateful, because he looked incredible in them, too short or not. 

Focusing again on him, Max noticed that with the jeans he wore a deep maroon turtleneck sweater, and brown socks and loafers. His hair was as messy as always, but amazingly, he'd shaved, and his smooth skin glowed. Max even thought she could smell a whiff of an unfamiliar cologne with her heightened sense of smell. Yummy, she thought, as he recognized the lustful gleam in her eye and smiled. "You take care of that spot? The one on your knee?"

"Yep, and I even got dressed, all by myself." It took a second for Max to process what he'd said, and Logan grinned at Tricia, who stifled a laugh. 

"Whatever. See what happens next time you ask me to play nursemaid," she said, pretending to be miffed. Logan was still smiling as he turned the chair in the direction of the kitchen.

When Joshua finally emerged from the bathroom, clean but dressed in the ripe clothes he'd been wearing the previous day, Logan began packing up the Christmas dinner he'd promised. Most everything was ready or close to ready, and just being kept warm. He put in an extra helping of his made-from-scratch pumpkin pie, and handed it to Joshua, who was already salivating. "There'll be leftovers, too," Logan assured him. "Max can bring some over later this week." 

"Thanks, Logan." Joshua stuck out his hand for Logan to shake; ever since Max had taught him the art of shaking hands, he'd been eager to use it as much as possible, and Logan gladly obliged him. 

Max came over and told Joshua it was time to leave. They said their goodbyes, and Logan reminded Max to stop by on the way back to pick up the Kennedys. Her deliberate eye roll told him exactly what she thought of his needless reminder, but he just grinned at her and turned back to the stove, pushing up on one locked wheel to peer carefully at the boiling potatoes and add some salt to the mix. "Catch ya later," she told him, and lifted a hand at Tricia before heading out. 

Logan and Tricia passed the time chatting about nothing important and finishing the last of the preparations for dinner. It took Max almost an hour to make the trip, because just as on Thanksgiving, the sector cops were out in force, taking more time than usual with each passenger through sector checkpoints. During that time, Original Cindy made it over to the penthouse, and Logan had the doorman buzz her up. Tricia met her at the door.

"Hi, are you Original Cindy?" Tricia asked her. Logan had described Max's best friend to her while they were waiting – how they'd met and how she'd discovered Max's true identity, and told her about their enduring friendship. 

"That's me, sugah. And you must be none other than the amazin' Tricia. Heard enough about you to write your memoirs." With a wink, she shrugged out of her jacket and hung it up. She was dressed in the holiday spirit, Original Cindy-style. Tight red leather pants, black pumps, and a tight, dark green shirt that left little to the imagination. 

Tricia laughed. "Same here. Logan's in the kitchen, and Max's gone to get the others." Original Cindy followed Tricia into the kitchen, and plopped herself onto a stool at the island counter. 

"What's cooking', boo?" she asked Logan with a sassy smile. 

He turned around from where he was sitting trying to pick out a couple bottles of wine, and grinned at her. "Hey there. Just the usual gourmet meal, you know," he joked. He put two bottles in his lap and wheeled around to deposit them on the dining room table, then met them at the counter. "Hope you came hungry." 

"Hey, you know me. My philosophy is, always eat like it's your last day on earth. That way you ain't gotta worry 'bout fittin' into your clothes tomorrow." All three of them laughed, enjoying the air of contentment and cheer than permeated the room. Their lives were so hectic and complicated these days, Logan was grateful for the two days they had to just relax and recharge. He was determined to make the most of any time that he could make Max forget what awaited her beyond the apartment door. 

Ten minutes later, they heard the front door open, and cheerful voices wafted into the kitchen. "Ready to meet our guests?" Logan asked, directing the question mostly toward Tricia. 

"No time like the present," she replied, and she got up to follow Logan to the door. 


	4. I Heard The Bells On Christmas Day

EPISODE SEVEN – CHAPTER EIGHT

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to Dark Angel. No copyright infringement intended. 

Spoilers: Season 2, Medium Is The Message.

Rating: PG.

A/N: It's me, and I'm alive. Merry Christmas to those of you who Christmas, and Happy Holidays to all. Again I apologize for the long wait. I didn't want to rush this, but I ended up doing so anyway so I could get it done before Christmas actually occurred! I started this chapter in July, never thinking I'd be writing it in the proper season. But such is life. Please read and review – I'd like to know what you thought of the gifts after so much anticipation. I may add to or revise this chapter slightly once the holidays are over, but I wanted to go ahead and post it as is for now. 

____________________________________________________________________________________

Before Logan and Original Cindy got halfway through the exercise room, a whirling dervish in the form of a blond five-year-old came barreling towards them, launching herself against Logan's legs. "Woah, there!" he laughed, putting out his hands to break the impact. She was so excited he was afraid she'd hurt herself on the chair's metal parts. 

"Logan! It's Christmas Day!" Maggie squealed as he lifted her with strong arms onto his lap. "Has Santa already been here?" she asked excitedly. "He came to our house, even though I didn't think he'd know where to find us! I got two dolls and new clothes and some crayons," she said, smiling broadly. 

"Sounds like you made out like a bandit," Logan said, returning her smile. He glanced up and back at Original Cindy, then over at Maggie's parents, who were coming in behind Max and putting up their coats. "Everyone, this is Max's best friend, Original Cindy. Original Cindy, this is Maggie," he said, his eyes flicking towards the little girl on his lap, "and Colin and Yvonne." 

"And I'm, uh, Tricia," a voice behind Logan piped up hesitantly. He twisted around to see her approach from the kitchen, and everyone felt the onset of the inevitable awkwardness that resulted from everyone knowing exactly what had transpired in Horseshoe Bay. 

Except Maggie, of course, who broke the tension by saying to Logan, "Santa had a lot of presents to bring here, didn't he?" 

"He sure did, kiddo," Max said, coming over to her and holding out her hand. "Wanna take a look at our tree?" 

Maggie nodded excitedly and took Max's hand, jumping off Logan's lap and waving at the adults as she let Max lead her down the hall. They heard her squeal of delight when she saw the tree and its presents, and they all smiled. Then Colin made eye contact with Tricia, and wheeled forward, Yvonne staying a step behind. "I – I'm not sure what to say now that I have the chance," Colin ventured tentatively, holding Tricia's gaze but shooting a look at Logan for support. "I guess the first thing would be, thanks for saving my life." 

Tricia smiled cautiously. "I'm glad I could help," she said. "And listen – don't worry about the other thing. It happened. I'm okay with it." She took a step towards Logan and put a hand on his shoulder. He looked up at her questioningly. "And I'm ready for Christmas dinner," she said with a twinkle in her eye.

Logan put his hands to his wheels and backed up, turning to the kitchen. "Well, then, you can help get it on the table," he told her. "Make yourselves at home," he called back to Colin and Yvonne. 

Original Cindy followed Tricia and Logan back into the kitchen. "I just gotta say, you the woman," she said to Tricia, coming up to put a hand on the older woman's arm. "Some guy hold a gun to my head, Original Cindy ain't forgetting that, wheels or no wheels."

Tricia laughed. "I'm not forgetting; just moving on," she said lightly. "Anyway, it was Logan's head he held the gun to, not mine," she added with a smile. Logan heard his name and looked up distractedly at her from where he sat at the stove, checking on the various pots there. The two women giggled as he flashed them a quizzical smile, then dipped a stirring spoon into the green beans. 

In the living room, Maggie was busy inspecting the gifts around the Christmas tree as Max, Yvonne, and Colin looked on. "Honey, put that back. Those aren't yours, and you might break something," Yvonne admonished her daughter. 

"Well, one or two might be yours, but they're gonna have to wait till after chow time," Max told her, perching on the end of the couch and smiling down at the little girl. Maggie was wearing jeans and a white sweater with Rudolph plastered across it, his nose a round piece of red felt and his antlers rising up her chest and down her arms. 

Maggie frowned. "You're supposed 'ta open the presents _before_ Christmas dinner," she pronounced, putting her hands on her hips. 

"Yeah, well, we're doing it backwards this year. Everyone needs a little variety in their lives, right?" Max asked her. "You do the same thing every year, you might get bored."

"We already opened presents at our house, Maggie," Colin pointed out. "This way you get to open presents all day long, right?" 

The little girl thought about that for a second, and her lips curved into an impish grin. "Yeah!" she cried happily. "You're pretty smart, Daddy." 

Max watched the family as they smiled and laughed. It was the first time she'd seen them all truly happy since...well, ever since she'd known them. Yvonne's blond hair was artfully held back with several small clips, a style that set off her high cheekbones and exposed her luminous brown eyes. She was really pretty, Max thought. Her outfit was simple, for once – a lavender sweater set and khaki pants. Max's eyes veered towards Colin next. Maggie had scrambled into his lap and they were playing patty-cake. His blue eyes, that matched his daughter's perfectly, reflected just how much he adored her. He was sitting in Logan's spare chair, a sporty little number, electric blue and gleaming from having been used only rarely in the past. Max giggled as she realized he looked like he'd coordinated his clothes with the chair – black slacks and loafers, and a blue button-down shirt. All of them had ruddy cheeks – due, Max knew from her brief trip to Joshua's, to the cold wind outside.

As she sat there quietly, just thinking, Max suddenly became aware that her chest was aching with a fervent hope that she was seeing her own future in this family. Could that ever be Logan and her? Married, happy, with a...a baby. The ache turned into a tightness as she blinked back tears. Embarrassed, she got up and walked into the kitchen. "Hey, anything I can do to light a fire under you slowpokes?" she asked, forcing a brightness into her voice that she didn't feel. "A girl could starve, you know." 

"Yeah, yeah," Logan said dismissively. "You could probably last for a month without eating." 

Max stuck her tongue out at him, and he swatted her butt as he wheeled by with a pot on his lap. He set it on the table and returned for another one. In just a few minutes, the table was completely full, and everyone was gathered. For Maggie's sake, they all bowed their heads and smiled as she thanked God for the meal and for Santa Claus and the presents they were about to receive. 

"Tricia, will you do the honors?" Logan asked, holding the carving knife and fork out to her. When she took them from him, he adjusted his glasses and smiled. "I'm not used to doing it sitting down." 

"Uh, I guess so – but I'm warning you, it won't be pretty," she told him. 

Though it turned out that Tricia was right – her carving job was more like a hatchet job and they all ended up eating chunks of turkey instead of slices – it didn't change the perfection to which Logan had cooked the bird. After everyone had been served and the first bite tasted, Yvonne exclaimed, "Logan, forget showing Colin how to lift weights. From now on, you're giving cooking lessons!" 

Everyone laughed in appreciation, and Logan's cheeks flushed pink, which made Max's smile even wider. Some things can't be learned," Logan quipped, and this time Colin's cheeks reddened. Logan couldn't keep a straight face, and his smile and silent laugh gave him away after a few seconds. 

"You got that right, sugah," Original Cindy chimed in. "You got the gift of chow, that's for sure." 

Dinner passed in the glow of interesting conversation and light hearts, and soon they were all rubbing their stomachs and complaining. "I'm blamin' you, boo," Original Cindy said, catching Logan's eye. 

"What'd I do?" 

"Now you knew good 'n well there was no way on this earth that we could eat that much food. The entire population of _China_ couldn't eat that much food."

Logan flashed her a little half-smile. "Haven't you ever heard of leftovers?" 

Original Cindy thought for a second, then grinned at the thought of gourmet lunches for the rest of the week. "You aiight, boo," she declared. 

With that, Logan pushed back from the table, putting the plates within his reach in a stack on his lap. "Okay, people, the quicker we clear the table, the quicker we can open presents." 

He took his own stack to the sink, but on his way back to the table, his cell phone rang, and he detoured to the computer room to pick it up. Max shot a worried look in his direction. She'd forgotten about the call he'd gotten yesterday – and she'd never told him about it. That informant had sounded pretty desperate, and she had to tell Logan. But she was going to wait until that night...unless he was already calling back. Max shifted from one foot to the other, then sprinted after him. "Hey, you're not forgetting our deal, are you?" she asked, coming up behind him as he wheeled into the room, nearing the phone on the far side of the desk. 

He looked back at her, surprised at her rapid approach. "No...actually, I was just going to answer my phone, if that's okay with you."

Max started moving again at the same time he did, but she was faster and slipped in front of his chair so he had to come to a short stop to avoid banging into her ankles. "Uh, yeah, actually I do mind. You can call whoever it is back tonight, when the guests are gone and the presents are opened and the holiday is officially over." 

"Since when is it so important to you to preserve precious holiday time?" Logan asked with a curious look, somewhere between amusement and irritation. 

Max shrugged. "Please, Logan. Just leave the phone for a few more hours. If it's anybody important, they can call the regular phone, right?"

Logan stared up at her as she leaned back against the edge of the desk, arms crossed stubbornly across her chest. Finally he sighed. "Okay, Max. Whatever you say. But as soon as this holiday is over, things go back to the way they were and I get to do my job. Agreed?" 

Max smiled winningly. "You're the boss."

"Sometimes I wonder," Logan murmured as he backed away from her. The phone finally stopped ringing as it directed whoever was calling to his voicemail. 

They returned to the kitchen, where Yvonne and Tricia were efficiently cleaning up, having shooed Original Cindy, Colin, and Maggie into the living room. A glance that way made Max laugh – O.C. was giving Maggie a piggyback ride, and had stopped by the Christmas tree so Maggie could reach up and touch the star planted at the top. Colin was doing pressure-relief push-ups on the wheels of Logan's chair, watching his daughter with a smile. 

"Logan and I can do the rest tonight," she told Tricia and Yvonne. They both looked up and started to protest, but Max interrupted. "Give me a break, aiight? I'm new at this present-opening thing, and I'd like to get a move on." She smiled impishly at them and cocked her head towards the living room. 

Tricia returned her smile. "You don't know how happy it makes me to see you happy, Max," she said softly. 

Max blushed a little, shrugging off her mother's tender look. Original Cindy, overhearing, marched over to her. "Okay, boo, let's get this show on the road." She linked arms with Max and they strode into the living room. Original Cindy sat down in one of the wing chairs, and Max edged past Colin and plopped onto the far end of the couch, curling her legs underneath her as she watched Logan wheel over to the Christmas tree and put a bunch of presents on his lap. He brought them over to the coffee table and went back for more. 

Tricia came over and sat in the other wing chair, and Yvonne followed behind, sitting in the corner of the couch next to Colin. Once Logan was done bringing most of the presents over, he pulled up between Tricia and Max and set his brakes, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. Max also shifted forward a little and reached her hand out to clasp his, and they shared a smile. 

Maggie had been prancing around from one person to another as Logan loaded the presents, but finally she scrambled up into her dad's lap, ready to begin. Because she was so impatient, the grownups let her open the few presents Max and Logan had gotten for her first. She was thrilled with the set of marbles Logan had gotten her, and with the book of fairy tales that Max gave her. "The book comes with one condition," Max warned Maggie as she eagerly turned the pages, looking at the colorful pictures and sounding out the few words she recognized. 

Maggie looked up, surprised. "What's a condition?" she asked. 

Max laughed. "A condition's something you have to agree to before you get the present. And the condition is, I'm gonna stop by your house every once in a while and read you a bedtime story from our book. If that's okay with you." 

Maggie grinned. "Okay," she agreed. "Whose turn is it now to open a present?" 

Logan cleared his throat. "I think there's one for your dad, but it's pretty big. Maybe 

Tricia would go get it for us," he said glancing at her. "It's over against the wall," he added, motioning with his thumb in that direction. 

"Oh, sure," Tricia said, jumping up from the chair that was closest to the Christmas tree. She found the wrapped box and half-carried, half-dragged it over to Colin, squeezing it past Original Cindy's feet. 

"Logan, don't you think you've done enough for us already?" Colin asked, embarrassed to be receiving a Christmas gift from a man he'd almost killed not long before. "And uh, I think I might fall more into the 'naughty' category this year."

"Well, yeah, but this was on the way anyway," Logan said with a half-smile. "The gift part is that I managed to light a fire under the manufacturer to get it here ahead of schedule."

Colin thought about that for a second as he started unwrapped the large box. As he realized what Logan meant, he tilted his head back and smiled broadly. "Thanks, man. That's great." He stripped the rest of the wrapping paper, throwing it carelessly onto the floor, and then Original Cindy and he managed to wrestle open the taped cardboard. Colin reached in and pulled out a wheel, showing it off to everyone. 

"My new chair – that was supposed to take a _month_," he said, but Logan could tell how excited he was to have it. "What's it been -–not even two weeks, right?"

Logan shrugged modestly. "I have a way with delivery people." Max punched him lightly on the shoulder, and he rubbed it with one hand, glaring at her jokingly. 

They took a break from present-opening because Colin couldn't wait to set up the new chair. It was similar to the one Logan had been lending him, except it was a sleek black, with the wheels tilted in a little more for stability and maneuverability, and an almost non-existent backrest. It had been sized to his measurements, so there was little to do but put it together and make some minor adjustments before he was taking Maggie on a breakneck ride around the apartment. Logan marveled at – and envied – the speed and ease with which his friend had mastered wheeling. 

Eventually they managed to corral father and daughter back into the living room, and began opening presents again. Max and Logan gave Yvonne and Colin a gift basket filled with some small, practical things they had been needing around the safehouse but hadn't been able to find in the nearby grocery store or drugstore – batteries, packages of Kool-Aid for Maggie, an ice pack and a heating pad for various aches and pains, and a few more luxurious things like candles and wine. Original Cindy had gotten Max a manicure set and some coupons offering Max her services for free, and Max had gotten O.C. some impossible-to-find hair care products that she'd come across through her occasional fence. 

Tricia gave Max and Logan some smoked salmon and other foodstuffs from Vancouver that they couldn't get in Seattle, all wrapped up in a beautiful gift basket, and Max gave her mother copies of the few pictures of herself that had been taken post-escape, with various foster families. Tricia blinked back tears, and had to put the pictures away before recovering enough to thank Max. Then Logan gave Tricia a quilt that he'd asked a friend to make for her, matching the colors she'd decorated her living room in. 

Eventually they came down to two packages left on the coffee table. "Get ready everybody," Original Cindy drawled, "time for some serious goo-goo eyes 'tween the two luuuvbirds." 

Max rolled her eyes at her friend, as the rest of them laughed. Max's gaze shifted to Logan, and they looked at each for a few minutes, until finally Max shifted her eyes to the coffee table. "Here," she said, handing him a gift wrapped in newspaper. "I don't go in for that fancy, shiny stuff," she said, thrusting the package at him. "Where'd you find all that paper, anyway?"

"I still have a lot left over from Christmases past, actually," Logan replied. "Found it stuck away in the back of a closet." He reached out and took the plainly wrapped gift from her. Slowly he peeled the newsprint away, prologing the suspense. 

He looked up at Max and back down at the package several times, teasing her, till she snapped, "Just get it over with already!" 

Logan laughed, and tore the rest off, staring at it as his breath caught in his throat. Their audience oooohed and ahhhed as he sat in silence. In his hands was a beautiful new journal, bound in leather and tied with a graceful leather strap. Logan slowly unfastened the strap and opened the book, flipping tenderly through the blank pages. Stopping on the first one, he read the inscription she'd written. _Hope you know by now – introspection makes you strong, not weak. Gotta know yourself before you can go out and save the world. Thanks for helping me get to that place, Logan. Love, Max. Christmas 2020. _

Logan looked up at Max, and she thought she saw the glimmer of tears in his eyes. "Thank you. It's beautiful," he said simply. He wished he could move closer to her, but it seemed silly to reach out his arms to ask for a hug, so he just sat there, aching to touch her, to show her how much her gift meant to him. 

"You're welcome," she replied softly, as she stretched her legs out and stood just long enough to transfer her behind from the sofa to his lap, then reached out her arms and embraced him. He gave her a fierce hug, ignoring the eye-roll from Original Cindy across the room, then whispered in her ear, "You read my mind." 

Pulling away then, he kissed her gently but quickly on the lips, very aware of the people watching them, including the five-year-old. "Your turn," he said lightly, and she reached over and picked up the remaining box. It was square, about the size of a cigar box, and wrapped in shiny foil decorated with Christmas trees and tied with a green ribbon. In her enthusiasm, Max snapped the wide, thick ribbon with such ease that Logan glanced up at Colin and Yvonne to see if they were surprised, but they didn't seem to have noticed. 

Max ripped the paper from the box as uncaringly as Logan had been careful, and lifted the top off to reveal…a cell phone, nestled in white tissue paper. She looked up at Logan, dumbfounded. "Wow, Logan, you shouldn't have," she said dryly. Visions of rings or poetry or…or a new bike, shriveled up and disappeared as she stared down at the electronic device. As she did so, she completely missed the knowing look that passed between Logan and Tricia.

"Hey, you've been needing one for a long time – and they're not exactly easy to buy these days," Logan protested, sensing that she wasn't thrilled. "And I'm getting the bill for it." 

Max managed a smile, trying to remember that it really was a generous gift. She glanced at Original Cindy, who looked like she'd just seen a decaying animal on the side of the road, and had to stifle a laugh. Tricia caught her eye and smiled reassuringly, and Colin and Yvonne murmured about how thoughtful it was. "Thanks," she finally told him. "It's really uh…it'll come in handy, that's for sure." 

With that, she hopped off his lap and started cleaning up the wrapping paper. The others got up to help, and Logan headed to the kitchen, announcing that there was pumpkin pie for anyone who was ready for dessert. Maggie jumped off of Colin and ran after Logan, and the happy chatter slowly began again. 

* * *

"I don't know about you two, but I'm ready for bed." Tricia stretched her arms above her head and yawned. They were in the living room, just enjoying each other's company. The guests had left hours before, and the three of them were sharing a last bottle of wine. Logan had transferred to the couch so Max could lie down and put her head in his lap, and Tricia's feet were propped up lazily on the coffee table. "Did I thank you for having me and helping me get here?" 

"Yes, and you're still welcome," Logan said, taking off his glasses to wipe something away with the hem of his shirt. "I'm tired, too – which is strange, considering I've just been sitting around all day."

"You need to work on your jokes," Max said, her voice muffled against his jeans. She sat up slowly, swinging her legs over the side of the sofa as though it took great effort. "You going back tomorrow?" she asked Tricia, who nodded. 

"Yeah, I better. Sector police will be especially vigilant around the New Year. Besides, I need to get back and keep looking for a job. There might be some teachers quitting mid-year." 

After a couple more minutes of conversation, the three of them started yawning more frequently, and decided to turn in. Logan pulled the chair up and transferred, putting his new journal in his lap and taking it to the computer room to put away. Everything else seemed to be in order, so he turned off lights as he went and called a good-night to Tricia as he continued down the hall to the bedroom. 

"Did you have a good Christmas, Max?" Tricia asked as they walked to the guest bedroom. 

Max shrugged. "Beats the hell out of working, which is what I usually do," she replied. Even though Jam Pony closed for the day, Max found it was a great day to put in some hours in her _other _occupation, since many people were out of town and houses were empty. 

"Well, I hope this is the first Christmas of many that we can spend together," Tricia said lightly. "I feel so…so lucky, to have finally found you. And I wanted to thank you for…for welcoming me into your life. Maybe not as your mother, but just as a friend. That's been so important to me. The best Christmas gift I could have received." 

Max shrugged again, clearly uncomfortable with the raw emotion she saw in Tricia's eyes. "Well, it's not like I don't owe _you_, too, you know, for givin' birth to me," she said with a mischievous half-grin. "And for the whole virus thing. And…I don't know, just seems right, you know?" 

Tricia nodded, and they stood for a second, and then hugged impulsively. Tricia kissed Max on the cheek and whispered, "Good night," then turned into the bedroom. 

Max headed down the hall to the bedroom. She wasn't particularly looking forward to being alone with Logan, not after…the cell phone. She'd put the irritation aside to enjoy the rest of the day, but now she had no idea what she was going to say to him. A telephone, of all things! The first Christmas they were together. His gift _last_ year had been more romantic, for heaven's sake. 

The lights in his bedroom were dim, and she realized he must've been in the bathroom, so she continued to mutter to herself about the wonderfully practical cell phone as she stripped off her shirt and threw it over towards the laundry hamper. She tossed her hair back over her shoulder, and was about to step out of her pants, when she noticed something out of the corner of her eye, and stopped. She turned toward the bed and looked again. 

Set against the stark white of the pillowcase was a small, white box, wrapped only with a slim red ribbon. Max's breath caught in her throat as she crossed the few feet to the bed and sank down onto the comforter. She reached out to the box and a small crackle made her realize it was resting on a plain sheet of white paper, which she unfolded. Written in black ink was Logan's unmistakable scrawl: 

__

Protector, 

Avenger, 

Destroyer,

Giver of life

who lives forever.

You are my Bast, Max. 

There was nothing else written on the sheet of paper, so Max picked up the small box and slowly removed the ribbon. Opening the box, she saw a small, black, velvet box cushioned in red tissue paper. She lifted it out carefully and opened it. Lying on the tiny black velvet pillow inside was a gold charm and delicate chain. The charm was little more than an inch high – an exquisitely detailed, painstakingly recreated figure of Bast, exactly like the one Max had come to Logan's apartment for that first night. It was solid gold except for eyes two tiny rubies, and the entire thing sparkled as the dim, amber bedroom lights reflected off its grooves and surfaces. 

"I thought maybe you wouldn't fully appreciate the cell phone, so I kept that as a backup." Max's head whipped around. She'd been so engrossed in the gift she hadn't even heard Logan approach. He had pulled up next to the bed, wearing boxers and a tee shirt, as well as a slightly amused expression. 

Max smiled, then laughed softly. "Everybody thinks you're a dope. You know that," she told him. 

Logan shrugged. "Doesn't matter what anybody thinks – except you. I wanted this one to be just between us. Sorry if I embarrassed you." 

Max snorted. "Hey, takes more than that to embarrass me," she murmured. Her eyes went back down to the charm, and she fingered it lovingly. "This is…how did you…?" 

Logan set the brakes on the chair, lifted his bare feet to the ground, and transferred to the bed beside Max. He took the box from her and carefully removed the necklace, then motioned for her to turn away as he lifted it over her head and fastened the clasp. She looked down in wonder as it lay on her chest, where tank top met skin, glittering. "Every time you look at this, you'll know how much I love you." 

She turned around and kissed him, gently at first, but then he took her in his arms and drew her backwards, until they fell back onto the bed with a soft thump. They continued kissing with more urgency, until he broke away just enough to breathe, "Merry Christmas, Max."

"Merry Christmas, Logan." 

* * *


	5. EPISODE EIGHT

**EPISODE EIGHT – "AULD LANG SYNE"**

Disclaimer: All things Dark Angel belong to James Cameron and Charles Eglee and maybe FOX. No copyright infringement intended.

Spoilers:  Season 2, Medium is the Message.

Rating:  R for strong language.

A/N:  I'm back. Thanks for being patient. I'm pretty much considering not posting here anymore...don't worry, that just means I'll be posting on my website, www.willowsdarkangelfic.freeservers.com.  And, if you're over 18, at the Cape Haven writer's list. It's been so long, you may not remember where the plotline in this chapter is coming from.  You have to go back to the Christmas episode.  Max took a call for Eyes Only and didn't tell Logan about it.  Then someone called again and she prevented him from answering the phone...

______________________________________________________________________________________

**Chapter One – "Oops"**

Monday, December 28, 2020

Logan awoke much later than usual, savoring what was probably the end of an unusually quiet and relaxing few days on the Cale homefront.  Max and he had spent the weekend puttering around the apartment, stretching out the Christmas holiday as long as they could, but both knew the beginning of the week would signal the inevitable return of normal life.  Max had to go back to work, Logan had to go back to sniffing out corruption, and both had to await the next Manticore-related development.  Now that they knew what Ames White was – or at least knew that his motive went deeper than a government ID badge – they were fearful of what it meant for Max and the transgenics, try though they had to put off worrying the past several days.  

After lying awake for God knew how long, Logan finally dragged himself from his bed, smiling at the memory of the best Christmas he could remember.  He was so glad Tricia had been able to make it, even for only two days, and he knew Joshua had enjoyed his first real Christmas experience, even if they had had to send him away a little prematurely.  Max and Logan had spent time with him almost every day after that, bringing him even more Christmas dinner leftovers, and helping him clean up Sandeman's house and go through some of the dusty belongings piled up everywhere.  Of course, Max and Logan had been looking for more clues as to the man's identity and current whereabouts, as well as any connection to the mysterious cult that White was a part of, but nothing had surfaced.  

After a quick workout on the pull-up bar, Logan headed to the shower, then dressed in jeans and a dark blue sweater before he breakfasted on toast and coffee in front of the computer.  He'd kept his promise to Max of staying away from Eyes Only business all weekend, and now he scanned the headlines and his email anxiously for any developments he'd missed.  It didn't take him long before he found a story buried on the inside of Seattle main newspaper, and he sat there, staring in shock, for a full minute.  "Drug Dealer Found Dead in Alley" read the headline, and in smaller print underneath, "Execution-Style Slaying Leaves Few Clues."  

As soon as he'd scanned the whole article and recovered enough to form a plan of action, Logan picked up his cell phone and dialed.  "Matt, it's Logan.  This guy, the drug dealer killed over the weekend – what's the story on that?  Anything you're not telling the press?" 

"I wish," Matt replied.  "We got nothing...whoever it was, they knew what they were doing.  And it was personal...the guy was shot a couple of times and beaten on top of that." 

"I'm going to look into it...and my reasons are personal, too.  This guy was an informant – the informant I thought I had just talked into helping us take down the Steelheads," Logan said, exhaling sharply.  

"You think they could've found him out?" Matt asked.  

"Not exactly uncommon for a dealer to get gunned down in the street.  Occupational hazard," Logan replied.  "But it's a little too coincidental for my tastes.  Thanks, Matt.  I'll get back to you," he finished, and ended the call.  Before he clicked the phone shut, though, he noticed the tiny green envelope sign in the upper-left corner of the phone, and, with a sense of foreboding, dialed in to check his messages.  

"Man, where are you?  I _told _that chick I needed some help – fast!" The voice on the recorded message was breathless, and scared.  Logan recognized it instantly.  "This Eddy guy thinks _I'm_ the new guy on the block, instead of you – and he's gunning for me.  You gotta protect me, man—"

The message terminated abruptly, and Logan swore under his breath.  I can't believe I didn't check my messages, he thought.  I just didn't think anything would happen till after the weekend...and I promised Max no Eyes Only...Wait, Logan thought.  _Chick?_  What chick was he talking about?  

***

Max pushed her bike into the lobby of Logan's apartment, glad to get in out of the cold December drizzle.  Had she been a normal girl, she'd have been exhausted, her first day back after a long holiday, but as it was, she was just depressed at having to return to the daily grind.  However, she felt her spirits lifting along with the elevator as it sped towards the penthouse, and she swore she could already smell the delicious dinner he was sure to be concocting.  

The moment she stepped into the apartment, though, she could feel a chill in the air, and the smell her hungry mind had imagined, evaporated.  "Logan?"  No answer.  "Sorry I didn't hit you back right away.  I figured if it was important, you'd dial me again, and I wanted to get my runs done ASAP."  

She knew he was sitting at the window, his back to her, even before she entered the living room.  A little twinge of anxiety pinched at her neck.  "I know it sucks to have to wait a whole year before we get Christmas again," she joked, "but it can't be all _that_ bad."  

Slowly he put his hands to the chair's wheels, and pivoted to face her.  "Did you forget to tell me something?" he asked coldly.  

Her face betrayed her confusion as she propped a hand on one hip.  "Uh, well, Original Cindy says she'll be your love slave if you'll cook her a Christmas turkey every week for a year...that what you mean?"  

Logan's face remained impassive.  "Did you talk to one of my informants last week?"  

Immediately, light dawned, and all the color drained from Max's face, but she tried to cover it with a look of disinterest.  "Oh, yeah...sorry, with all the fa-la-las going on, I forgot.  You said you weren't going to work, so I took the call.  You catch up with him?"  

"That would take a trip to the great beyond," he replied.  "He's dead."  

Max's mouth formed a little 'O' of surprise, but she recovered quickly.  "Well, one less drug dealer is good all around, right?"  

Logan's fingers tightened on his wheels, and Max could see every muscle in his body stand at attention.  He started to respond angrily, then took a breath.  "Max, this guy was an informant.  It was my responsibility to keep him safe – and I thought, yours, too.  He's dead because of us."  

Max huffed indignantly.  "No, he's probably dead because he stiffed some guy on a deal.  Don't put that on me.  I'm sorry I didn't tell you about the call.  I forgot.  But the world's better off, Logan."  

"Well, let's see about that," he said in a controlled voice.  "I had just spent three weeks convincing this guy to work with Matt and me to trap the Steelheads.  They busted him, and killed him.  Now do you think _anyone_ is going to believe when I tell them that I'll protect them?"  

  
Max stood her ground, defiantly crossing her arms.  "Oh, that right, I forgot.  You know all about walking away from someone who needs your help," Logan finished bitterly, then turned the chair and wheeled quickly past her in the computer room.  

Max stood frozen for only a moment, then she whirled around and stalked after him, slamming a hand down on the computer desk.  He refused to look up at her, his eyes boring into the computer screen instead.  "One dead dealer and you get to rewind the last two years?  You couldn't have even kept up your little crusade without me!  And I seem to recall putting this girl's transgenic behind in some serious danger trying to cover your ass more than once." 

Finally his eyes slid upward to hers, but the look was still cold.  "So you've helped some people, who gives a damn about letting one guy bite a bullet?  Sorry, Max, it doesn't work that way.  And if you think it does, you don't understand what Eyes Only is about at _all_."  

"I _said_ I was sorry, Logan.  I should've remembered the call.  But you can't be everywhere all the time.  Your informants wouldn't inform if they didn't think there was something in it for them...and most of them would end up dead sooner or later, whether or not they were helping you.  Kinda goes with the territory."  

"That's not the point!" he yelled.  "Don't be so self-righteous, Max.  The world is all about shades of gray – you know that better than most, earning a living from robbing people blind."

"Okay, let's compare shades of gray, then," Max snapped.  "I steal from bad guys and rich guys who probably got rich by screwing everyone else.  Drug dealers hook people who can't afford to get hooked, and then they squeeze for every last dime they have.  Yeah – we're really birds of a feather, Logan," she retorted, and then her sneer flattened into an accusatory glare.  "Well, I guess I know what you think of me now."

"Oh, no.  You're not twisting my words.  I'm just saying, just because this guy was a blight on society 99% of the time doesn't mean I didn't owe it to him to keep him safe.  And now he's dead.  I didn't get into this business to break promises and get people killed."  

"Oh, great, the famous Eyes Only guilt complex.  You're not responsible for the welfare of the whole world, Logan.  You didn't get him killed, _I_ did, remember?" Max corrected.  

"It's bigger than just this one guy, anyway, Max.  I agreed not to do Eyes Only work over Christmas.  And you returned the favor by throwing my integrity in the toilet so you could hang lights on a tree."   

"Overdramatize much?"  Max asked in disbelief.  "Bottom line – I'm sorry your sting was busted, but I'm not sorry the guy's dead.  End of story."

"Yeah, it is – at least for tonight.  I'm tired, and I'm going to be up all night," Logan said, pushing back from the computer.  "Considering how important you think my work is, maybe it's best you don't stick around."  His accusing eyes held hers, until she finally shrugged and pushed off the table.  

"Fine.  Should've known if you had to pick between the Halloween mask and me, I'd be sleeping alone."  

Before he could respond, she breezed around the wall divider, and a second later, he heard the door slam.  Wheeling back to the desk, he propped up his elbows and buried his face in his hands.  A second later, he was shocked to find his hands wet, and he took them away, staring at them.  He hadn't realized how much his informant's death had affected him.  But damn it all, he felt responsible.  Eyes Only should never take a break for the holidays – what had he been thinking?  While they were opening presents, someone was being gunned down in the street because of something Logan had gotten him into.  He knew in his gut that the Steelheads had pulled the trigger, but Logan himself may as well have.  If he'd never recruited him, the guy would still be standing on the street corner, swapping cash for drugs.  

That didn't matter, he thought fiercely.  Eyes Only isn't in the business of deciding whose life is worth saving, and whose isn't.  And I can't have Max thinking that he is, not as long as she is working on his behalf.  Then Eyes Only becomes just as bad as the people I'm trying to shut down, he realized disconsolately.  He wiped his face sadly and switched off the computer, knowing he'd never be able to focus enough to accomplish anything that night.  Emotionally and physically exhausted, he found it difficult to summon the strength to push the wheels back once more and head towards his bedroom.  

He made it out of the computer room, but then sat at the juncture of the therapy room and the kitchen, pondering.  Slowly he made his way to the cabinet on the wall, and selected a fine bottle of Scotch, one he'd had for years, a very expensive, aged name brand.  His eyes flickered to the other side of the counter where he kept a few glasses on the counter, and then, disregarding the idea, he unscrewed the top and took a tentative sip straight from the bottle neck.  The sharp sting of the bitter liquor going down immediately dulled the guilt and disappointment and sadness and anger that rose up in his throat and pounded at his ribcage.  

He took another sip.  He hadn't drunk alone in months – no, maybe years, he realized.  Surely it was before Max had come into his life.  Logan had always guarded himself very carefully against alcohol – even as a wild college man, he'd held off at frat parties when other guys drunk themselves into oblivion.  Alcoholism hung over his family like a noose, threatening to seize in its tightening grip anyone who slipped up, and Logan would be damned if he'd be as weak as Jonas...and as his father.  

As the third sip became a swallow, Logan began to rationalize.  I killed a man...I fucked up, big time.  I should feel like wallowing a little.  How could I ever get someone into that position, and then not have his back?  Maybe I shouldn't even be in this business.  

He stuck the bottle between his knees and wheeled to the sofa, then set it on the coffee table so he could transfer, already a bit unsteady.  Immediately he leaned over to recapture the bottle and swallow another mouthful.  Screw Sam Carr and his preaching against alcohol and SCI, Logan said, snorting in a moment of teenage rebellion.  I'm 32 years old, I can damn well handle a few shots of Scotch without losing control of my bodily functions...and if not, I can always clean up later, he thought, and laughed stupidly, even though it wasn't really funny, he knew.

Several more shots and an hour later, he gazed at the bottle, silently congratulating himself on leaving it nearly three-fourths full.  Maybe that's enough for tonight, Logan.  Not like I can't handle more...just better leave some for later.  It is good Scotch, after all.  

After several attempts, he managed to screw on the top and leaned over to put it back on the coffee table.  Seeing it in slow motion, he misjudged the edge of the table, and the bottle hit it and kept going over the side, landing with a thunk on the rug.  

Thank God for rugs, Logan thought, grateful not to have little shards of glass in amber liquid all over the floor.  Aren't rugs wonderful?  They don't ever get anyone killed.  They'd answer all of their voice mails, he was sure, if they had fingers to punch the buttons of the cell phone.  He leaned over, elbows on his knees, to peer at the bottle doing the backstroke across the rug's bold black stripes.   Paralyzed legs really a bitch when you're drunk, he mused.  Well, really, all the time, but especially when...Logan shifted and scooted and leaned forward, trying to reach for the bottle, which seemed to be moving farther away, like a rainbow when you looked for the pot of gold.  

Finally, Logan scooted too far forward and, predictably, his butt slipped right off the corner of the couch.  As he landed hard, his clumsy fingers made contact with the bottle.  "Got it!" he cried in triumph to the empty room.  

Then he looked up at his chair, and could have sworn somebody had come in when he wasn't looking and jacked it up higher than he was used to.  As he sat pondering the possibility that if he drank some more Scotch, he'd be able to get up and dance a jig across the room, the phone rang shrilly, hurting his ears.  Unfortunately, the ring was coming from across the room, from on top of the dining room table.  Logan kissed his bottle of Scotch goodbye and had just begun to scoot across the floor towards the phone when his stomach started feeling funny and he had to stop.  

"Ohhh..." he groaned. Suddenly the room felt too warm, so he stripped off his sweater, leaving only his tee shirt, but still he could feel the heat in his cheeks.  At the same time, the butterflies in his stomach turned to nausea, and it became worse as he tried to ignore it and keep moving.  

Eventually the phone stopped ringing, but it took a minute for Logan to realize that he was still traveling in the wrong direction.  "Damn it," he muttered, stopping and reversing course.  He doubted he had ever felt more miserable in his entire life than he did at that minute.  The floor kept moving and tilting beneath him, which wasn't helping curb the urge to barf all over his pretty mahogany floor.  

This was all Max's fault, he thought.  Yeah, that was it.  She drove me to this.  If she had just given me the message, I would have gone and put that guy in a safe house, and he wouldn't have gotten killed, and I wouldn't have had to drown my guilt in a bottle of Scotch.  Nope, not my fault.  Finally he was back at the chair, even though he just knew someone had come and gotten it and dragged it farther away than where he'd left it.  

Though he felt like just lying down on the rug and falling asleep, Sam's face swam in front of his eyes, lecturing.  "Logan, it's not so easy for you.  Nothing will ever be easy for you."  

"Shut up already," he yelled, and the face disappeared in a little poof of smoke.  Sitting there, he realized he'd completely forgotten how to get back in the wheelchair.  Surely I can think of it if I just sit here long enough, he thought, swallowing the bile that rose in his throat.  Hmmm...tiredly he pushed his glasses up on his nose and sighed.  Where were the Steelheads when you needed them?


	6. Confession

**Chapter Two:  "Confession"**

Disclaimer:  No copyright infringement intended. Dark Angel belong to FOX and/or James Cameron/Chic Eglee.

Spoilers:  Season 2, Medium Is The Message.  

Rating:  PG-13.

A/N:  I really appreciate the feedback on the last chapter, as always, and I'd love a chance to respond here, especially since some of the more critical reviews were anonymous.  It's going to be a long A/N, so get ready or skip over.  Sorry, but it's been so long since I last posted that you might need to re-read the last chapter and the reviews to understand my response.  If you want to discuss the last chapter further, feel free to email me privately.

IMO, Max, in the previous chapter, was not harsh – she was *acting* harsh.  She was not so much upset at the guy's death, but she was devastated that she had let Logan down.  Be that as it may, Max would *never* beg for forgiveness from anyone – no matter how much she loves Logan. It's not in her nature.  She'd never admit her feelings of failure, or the horror of disappointing Logan.  Watch any S1 episode – Max acts pretty harsh, or at least callous, with Logan and everyone else, when she is directly challenged.  If you watch with the volume turned down, which is really hard to express with the written word, she does seem much softer.  Her eyes and expressions are often loving, but her words are much less often.  

As for Logan, I disagree with those who compared this situation with the one in SiL.  Informants assume certain risks, and Logan accepts that.  That man may or may not have been killed because of his EO work. The dealer in this chapter called Logan and *begged* EO to help him.  He pretty much said, if you don't help me, I'm going to die. And Logan finds out that Max talked to the guy, and purposefully kept the message from him, and as a result, the guy was gunned down.  You'd have to have a pretty hard heart to spend weeks convincing someone it's in their best interest to help you, that you'll help them in return, and then not feel anything if they're killed because you didn't check your messages. I'm glad my Logan is devastated.  It doesn't make him weak, it makes him human.  And for those who said he was wimpy...he yelled at Max and kicked her out.  Doesn't sound like a wimp to me – sounds like a guy who's hurting, and angry, and is so secure in his love for his girlfriend that he knows he can scream and stomp (figuratively) and tell her to go away, and know she'll still love him in the morning.  

Finally, one reviewer wondered if I decided to stop posting at ff.net because of some negative reviews. Were that true, let me tell you, I'd be out playing the lottery – because I wrote my A/N last chapter before I received any of those reviews.  I'm not going to post at ff.net anymore because it's redundant – I have a website (www.willowsdarkangelfic.freeservers.com and thank you to my web guru, Denise).  Catch my updates there from now on.  Thanks for reading, everyone. 

___________________________________________________________________________________

"What are you doing here?"  

Max had just pushed open the door to her apartment, and the sudden question caught her off guard as she stripped off her backpack and let it drop to the floor.  She looked over and saw Original Cindy stretched out on the couch, already in her nightshirt and flipping through a magazine.  "Always nice to be wanted," she replied with a teasing smile.  

Original Cindy didn't even notice the smile, because the sadness in Max's eyes cast a shadow over her whole face.  "Figured you'd be crashing at Logan's," she said, "since you split so fast after work.  But you two had a fight, so come on over here and sit your butt down and tell Original Cindy all about what a typical _man_ he is."  She swung her legs over the side of the couch and patted the seat soothingly.  

Max hesitated, then obeyed her friend and headed to the couch, the smile she'd mustered slipping from her face.  "One of Logan's informants called on Christmas Eve.  I didn't give him the message, and the guy got killed, and Logan freaked."

"So what?" Original Cindy exclaimed.  "I know your boy's got a mission and all that, but tell him to get an answering service or something!"  

"The message was that the guy's cover was blown, and now he's dead."  Her shoulders slumped.  "I mean yeah, so I screwed up.  But the guy was a street dealer – he probably had it coming!" she said fiercely.  "And..."

"And you feelin' guilty, and so is Logan, and both of you decided to deal with it by blaming someone else," Original Cindy finished.  "Instead of fessin' up saying how you really felt."  She rolled her eyes and sighed loudly.  "When are you two ever gonna learn?"  

"Never, I guess."  Max stared miserably at her friend.  "Doesn't matter.  Logan's never gonna trust me again, anyway.  And you can't _be_ with someone you don't trust."  

"This ain't got nothing to do with trust," Original Cindy snapped.  "Logan trusts you more than anyone.  He's just bent out of shape, and when men are bent, the testosterone takes over their brains and their mouths so they can't see straight."  

Max shrugged.  "Maybe he _shouldn't _trust me.  I heard what the guy said, and I totally spaced.  But Logan didn't even give me the chance to explain."  

"Just give him a while to cool off," Original Cindy said.  "You guys have gone through too much to let some druggie stand between you.  But listen, boo, you got to tell Logan what you told me.  None of this defensive mess you're so good at.  Logan ain't gonna think any less of you if you tell him you messed up big time and you throw yourself on his mercy."  She smiled and winked.  "Lots of ways to make it up to the boy."  

Max managed a weak smile.  "I don't think it's gonna be that easy, O.C.  Eyes Only is Logan's life, and he thinks I betrayed the _mission_."  

"Max," Original Cindy replied, taking her friend by the shoulders.  "_You_ are Logan's life, and if it ain't clear enough by the way he looks at you, then just take my word for it...a'iight?"

"A'iight."  

***

Tuesday, December 29, 2020

Logan pushed open the door to his apartment and walked in, his steps slow and heavy.  He'd just met Matt Sung for lunch, and received the disturbing news that the Steelheads had solidified their power in the run-down neighborhood where they'd set up shop.  Everyone, good and bad alike, was scared stiff after the execution of Logan's informant.  Matt was even convinced that they'd managed to buy off a few beat cops so they could go about business unbothered.  

After they'd parted ways, Logan had hit the streets for a while, turning a couple of informants who told him in no uncertain terms that they were severing their relationship with Eyes Only for good.  The drug dealer informant had told a few associates that he was undercover for Eyes Only, betting that after the Steelheads were gone, he'd be able to consolidate his own reign over the neighborhood.  Now there was no way Logan was going to get help going up against the Steelheads, especially since there was living – well, actually dead – proof that Eyes Only couldn't, or wouldn't, protect anyone who agreed to.  

Sighing heavily, Logan stripped off his jacket and headed to the answering machine, whose light was blinking energetically, as it often did.  The message was from Bling.  "Hey.  I was hoping you could get to the safe house today,"  the physical therapist began.  He rattled off a few groceries the Kennedys needed, and then said, after a pause, in a lower voice, "...and Logan?  Use the chair, okay?"  

Logan ran a hand through his already-tousled hair and looked down at the tops of his boots, the exoskeleton curving over the thick leather.  _Great, _he thought._  It's one thing if I'm not already in the damn thing, but he wants me to take it off and go shopping in the wheelchair when I'm up and walking?  _Despite his irritation, Logan had heard the tone in Bling's voice, and knew better than to ignore the request.  He went to the workout room and pulled the chair close to the therapy table, then stripped off his shoes and pants and sat down to remove the exoskeleton.  

Once in the chair, Logan grabbed his backpack from the floor and sat it on his lap, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.  He slipped the wallet inside the backpack and draped it on the backrest of the chair.  He was halfway out the door when he caught a glimpse of his shoes still sitting on the floor beside the table, and he peered over in irritation at his white sock-covered feet on the footrest.  Sighing, he went back and pulled on the heavy boots.  He never wore them in the chair, because they were so heavy, and it was difficult to cram them both onto the footrest.  But not wanting to spare the time to go hunt another pair, he tugged his cargo pants down over the thick ankles and headed out.  

He stopped by the market nearest Fogle Towers to pick up the vegetables and eggs Bling had requested, and then drove straight to the safe house.  Maggie was waiting, as always, at the window, and he was still transferring into the chair when she burst out of the house and ran down the ramp to greet him.  Yvonne appeared in the doorway a few seconds later.  

"Maggie!" she called crossly.  "Get back in here right now, young lady!"

Maggie stopped and turned.  "Mo-om," she whined petulantly, looking back at the Aztek.  

"Be there in a second," Logan called to Maggie to encourage her to go back.  He heard her run back up the ramp, and he slammed the car door, coming around the side of the car, grocery bags in his lap.  Maggie was standing in the doorway, waiting, and she pounced on him when he reached her.  

"Hi, Logan!" she sang, trying to scramble into his lap.  

"Hey, there," he said, smiling.  "Why don't you take these groceries in to your mom, and then I'll give you a ride, okay?"  

"Okay," Maggie agreed, grabbing the two bags and dragging them on the ground on either side of her as she struggled up the ramp to where her mother was waiting on the porch.  

Logan followed more slowly, cursing Bling again for making him wheel instead of walk, but he managed another smile for Yvonne as he reached the door.  "Hi there," he said.  "Everything okay here?"  

Yvonne, now holding the two grocery bags, smiled briefly, but it wasn't enough to erase the worry lines that creased her forehead.  "I'm glad you came..."she said, and though she didn't finish the thought, Logan didn't miss the way her eyes darted down to the wheelchair.  

He expected her to go back in the house, especially since it was freezing cold and he was only wearing a light jacket, but she stood in the doorway, fidgeting.  "What's up?" he asked, furtively rubbing his hands together to warm them.  

"It's Colin," she said, sighing.  "He...he tried on the exoskeleton this morning.  Bling wasn't here, and I told him I didn't think it was a good idea, but...he did it anyway."  

Logan smiled, although he wondered why she didn't look happy about it.  "That's great!  I hope it worked okay."  

"It...it worked fine, but he wasn't ready, Logan.  It was too soon."  She shot a look into the house, as if checking to see if anyone was listening.  "He pushed too hard.  He...he started having those spasms, and the thing went out of control—"

Logan just stared at her, his enthusiasm deflating.  "Yvonne, it's my fault.  I'm sorry...I should've told him."

"No, Logan, you didn't know he was going to try it this soon, and by himself.  It's just my stupid husband.  He's so damn stubborn!  Bling tried to tell him...He almost kicked Maggie.  He couldn't control it.  We finally got it turned off.  He's in bed – the spasms are really bad.  Bling had to go get something stronger than the usual medicine.  He's in a lot of pain."  

"Let's go inside," Logan suggested, realizing her thin blouse was even less of a shield against the cold than his jacket.  He nudged the door open and wheeled past her into the house.  She followed him silently and shut the door. 

Maggie had gotten distracted by cartoons on the TV, but when she heard them, she turned around.  "Hey, Logan, my daddy was trying to walk like you, eeeeee-oooooooo," she said, singing the exoskeleton noise she'd perfected.  "But something bad happened and he had to go to bed."  

"I know," Logan said.  "He just needs some more practice.  But it might be a while until he can practice again."

"That's okay," Maggie said.  "It was kinda scary.  But he's the same daddy in his wheelchair, and he can give me rides, so I don't really care."  She shrugged and turned back to the TV, Logan's offer of a ride temporarily forgotten.  

"Logan."  Logan turned toward the sound of his name and saw Bling coming down the hallway.  His face was grim, and Logan dreaded the lecture he knew was sure to follow.  

"Listen, Bling, I did not tell Colin to try the exoskeleton before you gave the go-ahead—"

"I know," Bling said, cutting him off.  "But you've been strutting around here for weeks now, tempting him just the same.  I've been trying to tell you, it's not fair for you to expect him to get to the same place in four weeks that you've had a year and a half to get to."  

Logan sighed, gripping his wheels.  "I'm just living my life, Bling, wheeling and walking.  I saw the chance to get him the exo, and I did it.  End of story."

"For you, maybe."  Bling started to continue, then stopped and said, "He's pretty down.  You better go try to cheer him up.  And _not_ by praying to the almighty exoskeleton god."  His face was grim as he turned away. 

Logan blew air slowly through his nose, feeling irritation rather than the guilt he knew Bling was aiming for.  He wheeled down the hall and into the master bedroom.  Colin was propped up on a couple of pillows, under the covers, his eyes closed.  He opened them as Logan came in.   "Not another lecture, okay?" he said preemptively.  

Logan smiled.  "Nah, I know Bling's got it covered.  You okay?"  

Colin shrugged, then winced.  "Pretty loaded up on whatever he shot me full of.  Thought I was dying, the muscle spasms were so bad."  

Logan nodded.  "Yeah, they're bad.  I'd never had a problem with spasms until I tried the exoskeleton the first time.  Max was supposed to come over, but I was glad she didn't, later that night.  I didn't have any meds, and my legs were shaking so bad I couldn't even hold a glass of Scotch."  

Colin laughed.  "That's bad," he agreed.  "But the worst is the back spasms – the ones I can feel.  So bad you wish someone had a gun to put you out of your misery."  

Both of them were silent for a moment, then Colin said, "Sorry.  Guess my foot made it all the way up to my mouth that time, eh?"  

Logan shrugged.  "Don't worry about it.  I can't feel the back spasms much, but when I do, it always helps to lie on my side."  

"I'll remember that for next time," Colin said.  "Anyway, I know I screwed up.  I just...the thing was just standing there in the living room.  Felt like it was watching me.  I didn't think it would hurt just to give it a try.  And Logan?  When I put it on...it was like _flying_."  

Logan smiled, remembering his first time.  "Yeah.  I know.  Even though you can barely put one foot in front of the other."  

Colin made a dismissive gesture with his mouth.  "Doesn't matter.  It was the best feeling in the world."  

"Well, for right now, you better think of the exoskeleton like a drug high.  Might feel pretty good while you're doing it, but you're going to pay the price."  

"Yeah, yeah, I know.  You said no lectures," Colin reminded him.    

*****

Max pulled her bicycle up in front of the safe house and put the kickstand down.  She started up the ramp, then went back and pulled out the lock, wrapping it around the porch railing.  No sense leaving the thing out here to get stolen, she thought.  She wondered again why she'd decided to visit the Kennedys.  Joshua was at home, as usual, but he'd started a new painting, and it was obvious after a few minutes that Max was just a distraction to him that night.  So she'd started toward Logan's, and then remembered.  Original Cindy was meeting someone at Crash, and Max just didn't feel like going home alone.  So here she was.  

She headed into the house, but no one was in the living room, so she continued on into the kitchen, where she heard female voices.  Maggie was sitting on the counter while Yvonne fixed dinner.    
  
"Max!" Yvonne greeted her.  "I'm glad you stopped by.  We'll have a full house for dinner."  

"Bling here, too?" Max wondered aloud.    
  


"Yes, and—" Yvonne started, but Maggie interrupted.  

"I'm helping make the spaghetti sauce," she told Max proudly.  "My daddy usually makes it, but he's in bed."  

"What's wrong?" Max asked Yvonne.

She turned away from the stove toward Max, rolling her eyes.  "He decided to try on the exoskeleton when Bling went out this morning.  Now he's laid up with spasms.  It was a total disaster."  

Max absorbed that news, her eyes widening slightly.  "But he's okay...right?"  

"He'll be fine.  Logan didn't tell us that spasms make the thing go crazy.  He almost hurt Maggie.  I mean, he didn't _mean_ to, of course, but still."  Yvonne shuddered with the memory. 

"Men are so pig-headed," Max muttered, jumping up to sit on the counter opposite Maggie.  "Logan worked day and night on the thing when he first got it.  He was obsessed with getting it to work.  Bling told me later.  _Logan_ didn't even tell me he had it, if you can believe that."  

"Trust me, I can believe it," Yvonne said.  "Colin was pretty humiliated this afternoon.  I don't think men like us to seem them fail.  Logan was probably just scared it wouldn't work, and he didn't want you to see it."  

Max shrugged.  "Like I said, pig-headed _and_ pathetic."  She and Yvonne exchanged a knowing smile.

"So, what are you doing here?" Yvonne asked her.  "Not that I'm not glad to see you, but you haven't been by in a while."  

Max shrugged again.  "Just thought I check up, see how you're doin'."  

"Did Logan tell you he was going to be here?" Yvonne asked innocently, stirring the boiling pasta.  

The color drained from Max's face.  "No.  Is he?" 

Yvonne turned, surprised.  "Yeah, he's in the bedroom with Colin.  I thought maybe that's why you came."  

Max emitted a mirthless laugh.  "Hardly.  I don't think he wouldn't come if he knew I was going to be here."  

Yvonne's look of surprise deepened.  "Why not?  Did you have a fight?"  

"He got all bent out of shape about an...an Eyes Only thing," Max finished, remembering that she knew.  "I forgot to give him a message on Christmas Eve."  

"Surely he's not upset about _that_."

"One of his informants got killed.  The one who called.  So he's blaming me."  

"Oh, Max, I'm sorry."  Yvonne fidgeted, not knowing what to do or say.  "I know you didn't mean for that to happen.  I'm sure Logan does, too.  He'll get over it."  

Max continued to look indifferent.  "Maybe, but maybe I won't.  He acted like I was just as bad as the druggie who bit it, just for forgetting a message."  

"And you didn't, by any chance, get the tiniest bit defensive, did you?" Yvonne probed gently.  

Max's eyes narrowed.  "Wouldn't you, if Colin had said you didn't give a damn whether people lived or died?"  

"Did he really say that?"  Yvonne said.  "That's harsh.  But you know what?  I bet he didn't really mean it.  I bet he was just really upset."  

"Yeah, well..."  Max couldn't tell Yvonne, but she'd always suspected that Logan still had doubts about Max's true nature in the back of his mind, even though he'd long since shredded the picture of the murdered man in the woods at Manticore.  That's why she'd lashed out at him, she knew.  But she just couldn't go there with him.  She was too afraid that she was right.  And then what? 

*****

"So then, she basically says she doesn't give a damn about the guy, and I shouldn't either," Logan finished angrily.  

"Logan, Logan, Logan," Colin said patronizingly.  "She didn't mean it, and you know it.  She was just pissed at you for getting so worked up when she felt so shitty already."  

Logan rolled his eyes.  "You don't know Max."  

"So you're telling me that you actually _believe_ that she didn't care one little bit that the guy died because she didn't give you the message?" Colin pressed him.  "Hate to say it, but if you do think that, then good riddance, right?"  

Logan sat silently, thinking about that.  Colin was right, he thought.  Not the 'good riddance' part, of course.  But that Logan really knew, deep down, that Max didn't feel that way.  He couldn't love someone who felt that way.  But she'd said it, and he'd been feeling so bad, he just flew off the handle.  Stupid.  

He sighed.  "You're right.  Max had to care.  She just...she's not very good at admitting fault, or showing it to other people."  

Colin smiled.  "Ahhh...so then, no problem.  You just go find her and make her talk to you.  If she really just forgot to give you the message, she owes you an apology, but it was an honest mistake.  You have to let it go."  

"She did apologize, in her own stubborn way.  I was just too angry to see it for what it was."  Logan managed a smile.  "Thanks.  I guess I can be pretty stubborn myself sometimes."  

"Well, I wouldn't know anything about that," Colin joked.  

Just then, Yvonne called, "Dinner's ready!" from the front of the house, and Logan started to back up.  "I guess Yvonne will bring you some of our leftovers...if there are any," he smirked.  

Logan headed back down the hallway, but before he could turn into the kitchen, he stopped short when he caught sight of Max, quietly sitting in one of the recliners in the living room.  She didn't look mad, or even surprised to see him, he noticed.  She must have talked to Yvonne.  "What are you doing here?" he asked softly, detouring over to her.  He stopped at the far end of the coffee table, afraid to get too close, not knowing where they were with each other.  

Max shrugged.  "Didn't have anywhere else to go."  

"Max, I—" He stopped and looked down, then back up at her.  "I'm sorry for last night.  I said some pretty harsh things.  I...protecting my informants is just really important to me, and I kind of lost it when I found out he was dead."  

Max looked away out the window, not making eye contact.  "And I kinda lost it when you lost it.  You...you weren't really giving me the benefit of the doubt."  Her soulful brown eyes finally met his, and he saw the apology and the hurt within them.  

He wheeled over to her and carefully took her hands in his, holding them on his lap. "I was upset with you for not giving me the message.  I still am, I guess," he admitted.  "But I know you didn't mean for him to get killed.  You just forgot.  We'll both be more careful next time."  

Max nearly sighed with relief.  "I didn't, Logan.  Eyes Only is really important to me.  Not so much the drug dealers, but I know you need their help to 'fight the power.'"  She smiled.  

"Don't forget 'protect the downtrodden,'" he said softly.  He put a finger under her chin, and lifted her lips, bending over to kiss them.  "Are we okay?" he asked.  

"I'm kinda hungry, actually," she said flippantly.  "Let's go eat."  

*****


End file.
